Force over Distance
by CleanWhiteRoom
Summary: They will fix what they can.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** Force over Distance can now be found at An Archive of Our Own, in its entirety, with some extra additions, including hover-to-discover Ancient text and three extra chapters. I'll slowly be updating things over here, but alas, one shots will remain unincorporated into the text on this site.

* * *

><p><strong>Force over Distance<strong>

"_Something of the emptiness  
><em>_we spin through  
><em>_silts and settles  
><em>_so that we can walk  
><em>_a little further  
><em>_out into the fog."  
><em>-Mark Haddon

When he heard Rush's name, Young's eyes flicked up from his bowl of processed protein to take in Eli at the next table, the kid's hands mid-flight in some expansive gesture, before dropping his gaze back to his spoon.

"Call me crazy," Eli said, his voice carrying easily, "but seriously. You guys. Destiny—" he paused dramatically, forcing Young's eyes up again. "Destiny _likes_ him."

"Destiny likes him," Scott repeated, deadpan.

"I know. I _know_. I realize how that sounds. But I'm telling you, ever since—"

"Impossible," Greer cut in, leaning forward, fingers forming a blade that pressed into the table, tips down. "You want to know how I know that?"

"Uh—"

"I know that because _no one_ likes that man." Greer sat back.

Young looked down again, but not before he caught the forced half smile beginning to form on Eli's face.

"Talk to me when you work for the guy," Eli replied. "Er, work _with_ the guy."

Young could almost hear him rolling his eyes.

He scraped the last remains of his dinner out of the bottom of the bowl and limped out of the mess. His left knee and his ribs reminded him with every step that it was perhaps too soon to be resuming his normal routine. He clenched his jaw, pressing onward through corridors that hadn't yet regained full power since the attack a week before.

Though he had been heading in the direction of the bridge, he turned aside at the observation deck, intending to rest his injured leg. He couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped him as he settled on the small bench in front of the glass. The ship spread out before him, a dark and solid platform around which the blur of the stars flowed as they traveled forward at FTL.

It had been close. When he shut his eyes he could still see them through the veil of sparks that had rained down as one of the lighting panels blew. Their skin had been a cold blue shimmer under Destiny's emergency lighting and their movements had drawn up a primitive terror from somewhere deep in his mind. A small contingent of them had boarded the ship, slipping though shields that had faded to almost nothing under continuous bombardment. He had been on point, James to his right, the rest of his team behind him in a fan.

There had been no cover.

He took a deep breath and reached forward, grabbing the cool railing that ran around the perimeter of the deck, bowing his head under the memory of gunfire. He could feel the spectral kickback of a rifle against his shoulder.

"You're fine." He wasn't sure if he was talking to Destiny or himself, but he gave the railing a squeeze that blanched his knuckles and then pulled himself to his feet.

Young made his way past the chair room and, after a few more minutes of walking, he turned onto the bridge.

"Hey," Brody said, looking up briefly from where he sat in the central chair, studying displays. "How's the leg?"

"Better," Young said shortly, running a quick glance over Park and Volker.

He sighed.

"Yeah," Brody said, his tone one of tired understanding. "He's not here."

"You know," Volker said, "I thought that once we were all on the same page with the bridge and cracking the code—that he'd stop avoiding us."

"I don't think he likes us," Brody replied, not looking up from his work.

"He likes us," Park said, "I mean," she made a helpless, circular hand gesture, "in his way."

Young pulled out his radio. "Rush, this is Young. Come in please." He released the button.

"Rush here."

Young raised his eyebrows.

"Lucky you," Volker said, glancing up from his console.

"Rush. Here. What can I do for you, colonel?" Young could hear Rush struggling for a calm delivery but his irritation sharpened his diction.

"Where are you right now?"

"Control interface room."

"I thought you were supposed to be repairing the weapons array with the rest of the science team."

Young waited expectantly.

No response.

Thirty seconds passed, quiet except for the occasional tap of fingers on touchscreens. Young crossed his arms, leaning against the instrumentation panel that Eli seemed to favor, taking some of the weight off his leg.

"Rush," Young said into the radio, his voice rising slightly in warning.

A darkened array of monitors across the room suddenly lit up, drawing Young's gaze with a flash of gold and blue.

"Is that the—" Volker began.

"Yup," Brody said, his eyes still fixed on the screen in front of him.

Park was already in place at the newly activated console, scanning through—well, whatever it was that the science team scanned through. Young made his way over to stand behind her shoulder. He couldn't be sure, but it looked like at least their primary and secondary arrays were back online.

"This is good news, I take it?" Young asked the room in general.

"Everything's online except the main weapon," Park replied. "All three arrays are up. Power flow is stable."

"I wish he would explain how he does this stuff," Volker said. "Even just one time."

"You mean this wasn't you guys?" Young asked.

"Nope," Brody replied.

Park looked over her shoulder, meeting his eyes almost guiltily.

"Rush," he said again, cracking the name like a whip into the radio.

"You're welcome. Rush out."

"He's been in a bad mood all day," Park said.

Young couldn't quite tell if the expression on her face was sympathy or apology.

"Well that makes two of us."

He left them to their work on the bridge and headed toward the control interface room, his limp becoming more and more pronounced as he went. Much as he would have liked to head back to his quarters, he couldn't stand the idea of leaving Rush to his own devices for too long. He slowed down as he approached the CI room, his steps becoming quiet against the deck plating. Young rounded the corner silently and stopped just inside the room, leaning against the doorframe.

The room was dark. The only light came from the consoles, radiating up in a pale blue glow. Rush perched in front of the main interface, leaning forward, his left hand rubbing the back of his neck.

Young considered several openers and discarded them.

"You missed dinner. Again."

Rush didn't show any surprise at his statement, as though he'd been aware of Young the entire time.

"I wasn't aware that you were keeping tabs on me," Rush said, still not looking up. "Again."

Young sighed.

"Good work with the weapons array, although it might be nice to clue the rest of your team in on what you're doing."

"Yes, well. Maybe next time."

"How's it coming with the main weapon?"

"It's not looking promising." Rush's hand brushed delicately over the small wounds left by the neural interface device. "The main weapon was designed for use in conjunction with the chair."

Young grimaced faintly.

"But we've used it without the chair before," he pointed out. "You figured out how to unlock the firing mechanism months ago."

"That," Rush said, finally raising his eyes away from the console, "was a workaround. When I fired the weapon four days ago from the chair it—reset the system."

Young clenched his jaw, trying not to let the evasive quality in Rush's tone bother him.

"So make another workaround."

"Absolutely," Rush said, digging the heel of his hand into his eye socket. "Fine. Done. No problem. I'll just crack and dismantle the six adaptive algorithms that are currently locking me out of the ship's central processing core, shall I? I'm certain _that_ will have no negative repercussions."

"What do you need?" Young asked. "Some help from Earth? You want Eli down here?"

"I don't need anything. Anyone."

"Well,_ I_ need that main weapon working," Young said, "and preferably before we drop out of FTL again."

"Someone can just sit in the chair again if it comes to that," Rush said, his fingers coming to his temple and then raking through his hair.

"No."

"It very well may be the only way."

"I said _no_."

"All right then." Rush spread his hands in an expansive gesture, his mouth quirking into that half smile that Young hated. "By all means. I'll just rewrite the laws of physics to suit your whims."

"That chair could have killed you."

"I assure you, colonel, I'm well aware of that."

"Are you?" Young said it so quietly he wasn't sure if his words were capable of crossing the few feet between them.

Rush's hands halted in midair. Young watched them, hovering uncertainly over the consoles, until he forced his gaze upwards. There was a sharpening behind Rush's eyes and for the first time Young could feel the entire force of the other man's intellect narrowing down and pressing into him, cold and precise, like a screwdriver between the blades of a clam shell.

"Just fix that weapon."

He could feel Rush's gaze on his back as he turned away.

* * *

><p>That night, he dreamt of the attack.<p>

_The 0300 drop out of FTL wakes him and the first wave of weapons fire impacts the shields with a distant and ominous sound before he finishes pulling on his jacket. He sees them from the window in his quarters—two ships, maybe more, opening fire at close range. _

_There is no mistaking them. _

_The familiar boxy shape of their craft belongs to the aliens that had taken Chloe. _

_Chloe and Rush._

_He skids into the hallway, already running. He sprints toward the bridge, calling for Scott on the radio. _

_"Everyone to their stations." He shouts to be heard._

_"Understood," Scott replies._

_When he arrives, the bridge is lit up with a golden glow, trajectories and vectors projecting across screens in moving arcs. Chloe catches his eye as she darts from Eli's station to one of the forward consoles, bare feet flashing, her expression tight with fear. _

_"Report," he snaps._

_"We're taking heavy damage." Rush is behind him. "Shields down to thirty percent."_

_"Thirty percent? How is that even _possible_?"_

_"Something is draining a massive amount of power from core systems," Eli's voice cuts across the sudden shrill of an alarm. "It's being sequestered somewhere, but—"_

_"So we should prepare for boarding?" _

_No one answers. He looks at Rush, only to find the man focused intently on thin air somewhere to his right, head cocked, as if he is listening to something Young can't hear._

_Great. That's all they need right now._

_"Scott," he says, lifting the radio, not taking his eyes off the scientist, "It looks like we may be boarded. Send two of your team to arm the civilians. I'll meet them in the mess and take command of them there."_

_"How much time do we have?" he asks Eli._

_"Five minutes." Chloe responds instead. "Maybe less. I'm rerouting power to the areas of the ship that are taking the most damage, but it's a temporary measure at best."_

_"Keep doing what you can. Greer's team will buy you as much time as possible."_

_The door swishes open behind him and Park bursts into the room, followed a few seconds later by Brody and Volker. _

_"Brody," Rush says, as his eyes snap back into focus with the hiss of the door shutting. He points to the console where he's standing, and then makes for the exit with his quick, ground eating stride. Young grabs his arm and spins him around as he passes, shoving him back a few steps in the direction of the others. _

_"Where do you think you're going?" His frustration finally spills over, and he bites the words out in a contemptuous snarl, unable to restrain himself despite the gravity of their situation. _

_"There's no time for this," Rush shouts, coming right back into Young's personal space, his face twisting from surprise to anger in the space of a heartbeat. "Let me go."_

_"Nobody leaves this room," Young replies, loud enough for them all to hear. "Nobody opens this door. For anything. You got that?"_

_A sudden burst from the nearest ship finds its way through the weakened shielding, rocking the ship down to the deck plating. Young is thrown into a metal railing and feels a sickening crack in his left side from the impact. He hits the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him, the wail of multiple alarms loud in his ears. Beside him, Rush struggles to right himself as the metal continues to shift beneath them. Instinctively, Young manages to catch the scientist's ankle as he goes for the door. He pulls, bringing Rush down. He gets a boot to his jaw for the effort, but not before he manages to drag Rush back inelegantly, one hand around his belt, his upper body half-pinning the other man's legs. _

_"Guys!" Eli yells back at them. "Seriously? Come on!"_

_In that moment of distraction, by chance or by design, one of Rush's elbows finds Young's broken ribs and connects solidly. Pain shoots down his side, loosening his grip, and with a burst of energy Rush makes for the door. _

_It opens for him as he approaches._

_Young watches him from the floor as he pauses, a bright silhouette against the darkness of the corridor, as if he's listening for something. Without a glance backward, Rush turns and disappears down the corridor._

_"What the hell was _that_?" Eli shouts. _

_Young pushes himself to his feet, his hand pressed against his ribs. His radio crackles._

_"Sir, this is Greer."_

_"Go ahead."_

_"Sir, Rush just ran past us like a bat out of hell."_

_"I know, sergeant. Just—" He needs to pause a moment to catch his breath. "Let him go."_

_"Understood."_

_"That makes one of us," Eli snaps over his shoulder._

_"Eli," Young snaps right back. "Less talk, more work."_

_He brings his fist down on the door controls and leaves the room. _

_Greer is waiting for him in the hallway. _

_"Nothing gets through to them, sergeant." He meets Greer's eyes, and tilts his head back in the direction of the door. "They're the only chance we have of making it out of this."_

_"Yes sir."_

_He forces himself into a run, pain tearing down his side with every step, to meet James at the mess. Wray has already organized a makeshift blockade of tables and is herding people behind them as James and her team keep watch near the entrance. They had chosen the mess as the most defensible position during the Lucian Alliance assault—it is large enough to hold everyone, and has only one entrance. _

_That also makes it their last resort. _

_"Sir, we have contact!" Scott's voice over the radio is nearly drowned out by gunfire. "I repeat, we have been boarded."_

_A scream breaks out from somewhere behind him, along with a surge of chatter from the civilians. _

_"Quiet," Young yells into the sudden panic. "Those with weapons position yourselves immediately behind the barriers. Those without—to the back."_

_He crooks his fingers and James falls in beside him with the rest of her team. Another shot wracks the ship, throwing them off balance, sending a jolt of pain spreading through his chest. _

_"Becker." He gestures for the other man's weapon. "Let me borrow your rifle." _

_The sergeant hands it over without comment, gamely pulling his handgun from his belt. _

_The team hasn't even moved into position in the hallway when they see them, rounding the corner in a group. _

_A panel overhead explodes and he struggles to make them out through the sparks that rain down in a shimmery curtain. They are just as he remembers them—the ungainly limbs, bending unnaturally as they advance, their skin an alien blue under Destiny's emergency lighting. _

_"Form up," he roars. He feels more than sees James snap her rifle up at his side and then they are organized and firing down towards the approaching party._

_There is no cover. _

_The aliens fire back with some kind of plasma-based weapon, slow to charge but obviously powerful, and his team splits down the middle, pressing themselves against the side of the corridor to let the barrage pass. There is no opportunity to regroup. From his position in the front, he has a clear line of sight down the corridor and continues firing. He sees one of the aliens fall, then a second, before the first member of his own team goes down._

_James hits the deck with a sickening crack and as he moves to cover her, he feels a bolt of pain shoot up his leg, knocking him back with the impact—_

The dream cut off abruptly as he came back to consciousness with a start. He sat up, hands shakily wiping the cold sweat from his face. His breathing came in ragged gasps.

"Damn it." He scrubbed the back of his hand across his eyes.

"Colonel Young, please respond," TJ's voice rose from the radio, sounding slightly breathless. He wondered how many times she had called him. Without getting up, he reached over to grab the radio from the table.

"Young here."

There was a pause, and then, "sorry to wake you, sir."

He hated that she could still read him so well.

"Don't worry about it TJ. Go ahead."

"Lieutenant James has regained consciousness," she said. "You had wanted to be informed—"

"I'll be right there."

On his way down to the infirmary the halls were mostly deserted. It was twenty three hundred hours, and only those on the night shift were up and about. He gave Brody a nod as he passed him. A few minutes later he stopped to chat with airman Dunning before arriving at the infirmary.

TJ smiled at him as he made his way over to James, picking his way through empty beds.

"Sir." James attempted to sit as he approached.

"At ease, lieutenant." He held up a hand. "How's the shoulder?"

She gave him a half smile. "Still pretty sore, but TJ tells me I'll live."

"Good to hear," Young clapped her briefly on the knee.

"I saw you take a hit." She looked away. "Covering me."

"Nothing to worry about, lieutenant. As you can see, I'm already up and around."

"Yes sir."

"You do what you need to get back on your feet."

"Sir, can I ask you—"

He raised his eyebrows.

"Well, it just—looked pretty bad." She paused, uncertain. "I thought—"

She was quiet, and he nodded at her.

"I thought we were going to lose the ship."

The ache in his leg was nearly unbearable. He took a few steps to his right to perch precariously on the edge of her bed. She shifted to give him more room. Young looked down at his hands.

"Me too." He felt a humorless smile flash across his face, too fast to reach his eyes. She stared at him, startled. He looked up, away from her, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He sighed.

"Rush. It was Rush." He forced his eyes back to hers, forced himself to smile. "He saved our asses."

"_Rush_? How?" She was almost successful in hiding the quick flicker of distaste that flashed over her features.

"He sat in the chair. Apparently he was able to fire the main weapon and restore shields." He raised a shoulder in a half-shrug. "Somehow he plugged himself into the internal sensors and was able to isolate the aliens that boarded us using force fields. Then he vented the atmosphere in those compartments."

"Is he, um—" She didn't finish her question, but Young understood what she meant.

"He's fine," Young replied. "Or, at least he _seems_ to be."

"Huh." James' expression was suddenly shuttered. Young wondered what it was that she didn't want him to read on her face. "Lucky."

"I guess so," he replied.

"Luckier than Franklin."

"Yeah. I guess so," he repeated.

An awkward silence settled between them for a few seconds. Then Young stood. "I'd better go," he said. "You need your rest."

She gave him a brief, strained smile. "Yeah, sure. Of course."

"Take care," he threw back over his shoulder.

TJ moved to intercept him as he left but he waved her off, ignoring her raised eyebrow. He had nearly made it back to his room when he ran into Eli, almost literally, as the kid rounded a corner, his face glued to the screen of the laptop he was carrying.

"Whoa," Young said, holding up a hand.

"Oh. Hey," Eli said, shoulders drooping in relief. "I was looking for you. Do you have a minute?"

"Sure," Young replied, "but I've got to get off this leg. Come on." He motioned Eli in the direction of his quarters. Eli seemed to barely be able to contain himself, and Young had a hard time keeping up. As soon as they reached their destination, Eli wasted no time in setting up his laptop on the low table in front of his couch.

"What's got you so worked up?" Young asked, resisting the urge to groan as he took his weight off his abused knee.

"So you _know_ I don't like the spying, right? Because—"

"Eli." Young forestalled the rant with a raised palm.

"Anyway," he continued. "You have got to see this. If I try to explain it—" the young man just shook his head.

Young watched as he pulled up the file. The picture was clearly from a kino, hovering over a long stretch of empty corridor. Closed doors lined the hallway. Eli reached over, obstructing his view for a moment as he hit the play button.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, as Young watched, the harsh yellow light in the corridor faded down to a soft blue glow in a slow-moving wave that propagated down the long straight line of the hallway as far as the kino could see.

"I didn't even know we _had_ mood lighting," Eli murmured next to him.

"Eli, what—" he broke off.

Beneath the kino, Rush had stepped into view, his normally quick stride a bit slower than usual, one hand reaching up to rub his shoulder. The kino descended to follow him, bringing more of the corridor ahead into view. They could see the leading edge of the lights dimming ahead of Rush, matching his pace as he moved forward.

"What the _hell_ is he doing?" Young murmured.

"I don't think he's doing it," Eli replied. "In fact, I'm not sure he's even _aware_ of it. He's looking down."

It was true. The scientist's head was angled down, one hand gripping his shoulder. He looked as exhausted as Young felt.

"Keep watching," Eli said. "Right here."

A door to the man's right suddenly slid open, spilling golden light into the hallway before it too muted down to the same blue glow as the overhead lights. Rush paused, startled, and glanced briefly at his hand, as if wondering whether he had hit the door controls by accident. Then he looked up into the room, the kino catching him in profile as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Oh I don't think so," Rush said quietly, in the direction of the room.

Rush glanced sideways, noticing the kino for the first time. He reached out a hand, blocking the camera for a moment, and then the kino was sailing back the way it had come, the picture bleaching as it took a few seconds to adjust to the suddenly elevated light levels.

"Damn it." Young closed his eyes. "That's the chair room, isn't it?"

"Yup," Eli said shortly.

"What the _hell_ is going on?" Young fixed Eli with a pointed glare. "Don't tell me he's secretly running the ship. Again."

"I really don't think so," Eli said, sounding almost excited. "I think maybe the ship is trying to _communicate_ with him. It's almost like it was inviting him in, you know what I mean?"

"I don't really consider turning the lights off wherever he goes to be behavior I would characterize as _friendly_," Young commented.

"But it wasn't turning them off," Eli said, leaning forward, his hands slicing through the air. "It was turning them _down_." He paused. "He gets headaches, you know."

Young stared at Eli for a good three seconds.

"You think the ship was trying to make him _feel_ _better_?"

"No. Well—kind of." Eli sighed. "Maybe? I mean, when you put it like that it sounds stupid, but—"

"Look," Young said, forestalling the coming monologue. "Keep an eye out. We have no idea what the repercussions are going to be following his use of the chair. Frankly, I'm more interested in preventing him from cutting the rest of the science team off from control of key systems than I am in the ship developing some kind of—_attachment_ to him. If that's even possible."

"Okay," Eli said, drawing out the word like he thought Young had come to entirely the wrong conclusion.

"Get some rest," Young said, standing to usher Eli out.

The door shut behind the young man, and for a long moment Young rested his forehead against the metal, eyes closed. Below his skin he could feel tiny vibrations. He ran a hand over the smooth surface.

"Do you talk to him?" he whispered to the ship.

For a long moment, he was quiet.

"Why won't you talk to _me_?"

There was of course, no answer.

Young sighed and picked up his radio. "Lieutenant Scott, come in please."

"Yes sir, go ahead."

"I want someone posted outside the chair room. No one goes in or out without my permission."

"Understood, sir."

"Lieutenant—"

"Yes sir?"

"Especially not Dr. Rush."

"Got it."

* * *

><p>By the time Young's radio went off again at five hundred hours, he had only managed to get a few hours of sleep.<p>

"Colonel Young, this is Rush, do you read?"

"Damn it," Young growled, barely conscious, fumbling in the darkness for his radio.

"Go ahead."

"Colonel, can you please clarify the reason a _guard_ is posted outside the chair room?"

"Just a precaution, Rush," he replied.

There was a long silence. He wondered what Rush was doing. The possibilities ran through his mind—glaring at the radio, throwing something at a wall, trying to get past whomever was posted outside the chair room—

"Rush," Young said into the radio.

"If you want me to bring the main weapon online, that requires rerouting the control systems away from the primary interface." Young could almost _feel_ the effort the other man was putting into controlling his tone.

Young was not entirely sure how to respond to that.

"Which is the _chair_," Rush snapped, his tone scathing.

"You can work on it later," Young said, "With the rest of the science team."

"Later," Rush echoed icily.

"Yes, later." Young said, mirroring Rush's earlier condescension. "With the science team."

No response.

Young tried to go back to sleep, but ultimately it was a wasted effort. He shaved and showered, then made his way down to the mess for the early meal shift. He took a seat opposite Camile Wray.

"Camile."

"Colonel Young," she responded coolly, flicking a quick glance up at him from her bowl of mush. Something she saw made her do a double take. "You look exhausted."

"I'm fine."

"How are the repairs coming along?"

"Pretty well, I would say." Young gave his protein mix a brief stir. "We've got all three weapons arrays up and running, and the shields are almost back to full power. There are still a few problem areas that people are working on."

"What about the main weapon?" Wray forced down another mouthful of her breakfast.

"Rush is tackling it. He thinks they need to interface with the chair to fix it."

"With the _chair_?" She frowned, her eyebrows furrowing. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"No," Young said shortly, "I'm not sure. But Rush tells me it's the only chance we have of getting the thing back online."

Wray sighed.

"Yeah," Young said in agreement.

They ate in silence for a few moments, focusing on getting the meal over with as quickly as possible.

"We could really use another foraging mission," Wray said, finally reaching the bottom of her bowl.

"True. I'll see if Rush or Eli can't program that into Destiny's computer in the near future."

She nodded at him as she left the table. Young watched her go. As she was leaving, Rush rounded the corner at a rapid clip, nearly taking out Wray in the process. He grabbed her arm to right her as she stumbled.

"Pardon."

"Sorry."

Young rolled his eyes.

Wray disappeared into the hallway and Rush strode across the room and grabbed a bowl of processed protein from Becker. From what Young could tell, it seemed that his plan was to eat it as fast as humanly possible while literally standing in front of the airman to give the bowl back to him with minimal time wasted.

Becker was watching Rush with a sort of resigned amusement, and Young got the feeling that this was not an unusual occurrence.

"Where's the fire, Rush?"

The scientist looked over at him, eyebrows raised.

"Sit." Young said, gesturing at Wray's now vacant seat.

"I'm extremely busy, colonel."

"So what else is new?"

Rush narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Sit. We have to talk about this plan of yours."

"I'm not sure what you're referring to." Rush was abruptly exuding an air of practiced nonchalance that sent chills down Young's spine.

He didn't trust that tone.

He'd heard it too many times before.

"Interfacing with the chair," Young said, trying to keep his sudden unease out of his voice.

Rush gave him a sharp look, but sat down opposite him, nearly throwing his half empty bowl onto the table. "So, tell me colonel. What are your terms? Under what conditions will you _allow_ me—"

Young held up his hand before Rush could work himself up to full volume. "Stop being so melodramatic."

Rush gave him an irritated sigh and lowered his spoon, watching the white paste drip slowly back into the bowl.

"My conditions are as follows. One, the entire science team is involved. Two, someone is to be stationed outside the door at all times, in case of emergency. Three, no one sits in the chair."

"One, I will involve Eli and no one else. Two, what do you think someone outside the room is going to do? And three, fine."

"This is not a negotiation, Rush."

"Fine. Everyone but Volker."

"Rush."

"Perfect." Rush slammed his spoon down on the table with a metallic clang. "And what time would you like to start?"

"Any time." Young's voice was perfectly controlled. "Just let me know, I want to be there."

"Let's say half past nine then, shall we?"

"Great."

"Yes. Great." Rush stood.

"You didn't finish your breakfast."

"Be my guest, colonel."

Rush stalked out of the room. There was a scatter of nervous laughter after he disappeared from sight as the room let out a collective breath.

"Carry on people," Young said, gathering up his empty bowl along with Rush's partially empty one, and handing them to Becker.

He looked in on Scott's mini-boot camp for civilians and finished up some odds and ends until it was time to head down to the chair room. He met up with Eli and Brody on the way. The two of them were chattering about internal rheostats and capacitors. Well, Eli was chattering; Brody was mostly offering monosyllabic statements of agreement. Young fell in behind them with a nod.

They entered the chair room to find a flurry of activity. Laptops opened like butterflies atop Ancient monitors. Young leaned against the doorframe next to Greer, watching Park and Volker boot up systems around the periphery of the room. The chair sat dormant in the center of the space.

"Sir," Greer greeted him.

"Sergeant," Young replied. "How's it going?"

"I feel like I'm becoming an expert at this, sir."

"At—" Young prompted him to elaborate.

"Watching other people watch computers."

Young's mouth twitched slightly. "Well, as far as I'm concerned, it beats alien incursions any day of the week."

"Yes sir."

Young gestured with his head. "Take up a position right outside the door."

Greer nodded, moving a few steps back. Young leaned against the doorframe just inside the room, trying to take a bit of weight off his injured leg.

"Where's Rush?" Volker asked from his position behind the main console. "We're pretty much good to go here."

"Right here, Mr. Volker," Rush answered from behind Young's shoulder as he strode through the doorway.

Rush hadn't taken more than two steps into the room when the overhead lighting dimmed and the chair activated with an ominous humming sound, restraints opening with an audible snap.

Rush flinched as though he'd been slapped and threw up a hand in front of his face. At the same moment, acting on instinct, both Young and Greer stepped forward to yank him backwards, away from the chair. Greer shoved Rush toward Young and moved out front, his weapon at his shoulder. Young's injured knee nearly buckled under the sudden strain, but he used the wall at his back to stay upright and gritted his teeth as he rebalanced himself and Rush.

He could feel the scientist's heart pounding underneath the hand he had fisted his shirt.

No one spoke.

In the center of the darkened room, the chair continued to hum. Waiting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

* * *

><p>Rush tore himself free from Young's grip with an affronted hiss.<p>

"You realize it's a _chair_ for god's sake?" he snapped at Greer, who was still sighting down the barrel of his rifle. "It's _bolted to the floor_. Exactly what do you think it's going to do?"

"Tell that to Franklin," Greer murmured back, not lowering his weapon.

"This is ridiculous." Rush glared at Young as he said it, and Young wasn't sure if the scientist was seeking agreement or leveling a jab at him.

Whatever he was looking for, he didn't find it on Young's face.

Rush moved forward again, heading over to the console where Eli was standing.

Young let him go.

"You realize how creepy that was, right?" Eli asked, as Rush approached. "I mean, even _you_ have to admit that was like maybe a nine on the creepiness scale."

"Eli."

"What? That freaked you out. I know it did."

Young looked skeptically at Rush. The other man was loading some kind of program onto the laptop open over the main console. He looked distinctly _un_-freaked out.

"I'd rank it more like an eight point five," Volker said after a moment's pause.

"I give it a seven." Brody added. "Tops."

"No way," Eli said. "A _seven_? Are you kidding me?"

"Why are the lights off?" Park asked.

"Ambiance?" Volker suggested.

The banter between the science team had relaxed Greer somewhat. After a nod from Young he backed away from the chair, lowering his weapon. They stood shoulder to shoulder in the doorway.

"I really _hate_ that thing," Greer said quietly.

"Join the club, sergeant."

Young watched their progress for the next half hour. Other than the initial activation of the chair after Rush had entered the room, nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Just as the science team had successfully accessed the core systems of the neural interface, Young was distracted by the appearance of Lt. Scott, approaching at a fast clip.

"What's going on, lieutenant?"

"It's Wray, sir." Scott was slightly out of breath. "She was due to use the communication stones this morning." Scott paused, and Young nodded for him to continue. "She's back. Apparently Colonel Telford is on the other end, waiting to switch with someone. Homeworld command wants to talk to you."

Young sighed, rubbing his forehead. He glanced over at the science team, now having some kind of conference around the main interface console.

"All right. Lead the way, lieutenant."

He followed Scott down the long hallways to the otherwise bare room containing the Ancient communication stones. He arrived to find Wray pacing back and forth, one arm wrapped around her ribcage.

"Camile," he said, drawing her attention. "What's going on?"

"I'm not sure." She pursed her lips. "It could be anything. We know the trouble with the Lucian Alliance is escalating." She shot him a rueful look. "If we're lucky, it will be something to do with resupply. I think Homeworld Command is close to attempting a dial-in to Destiny using an alternative power source."

He raised his eyebrows. "Since when are we lucky?" he asked her.

She sighed.

"Let's see what they have to say." Young turned to Scott. "Lieutenant, you want to do the honors?"

Scott nodded shortly and sat down at the table. He picked up a stone and placed it on the glowing surface of the communications device. Young watched the momentary sense of disorientation pass over his features as Colonel Telford's consciousness entered his body.

"David," he said in greeting, as Telford stood.

"Everett." The word was clipped and brisk.

"Welcome back."

Telford gave him a brief nod. "We need to talk." Telford looked over at Wray, obviously waiting for her to take the hint.

She raised a disdainful eyebrow before turning on her heel to leave them alone in the room.

"Take a seat, David," Young said, dropping into a chair. He couldn't completely hide the grimace that passed over his features at the change in position.

"You're injured?" Telford managed to look offended rather than sympathetic. "_Again_? How?"

"We had an incursion a few days ago. I took some fire."

"_Damn_ it, Everett. You need to report these things _as they happen_. We've had no contact with Destiny for four days until this morning—"

Young held up a hand. "We cut off our use of the communication stones until we put enough distance between us and the craft that launched the attack. I was concerned about _our_ people ending up on _their_ ship. As far as we know, they still have possession of the stone they took from Rush."

"What's your status?"

"We've almost completed repairs. We're still working on getting the main weapon online, but shields and the defensive arrays are up and running. Homeworld Command will have my full report within twenty-four hours."

"We'll be needing more than that." Telford leaned forward over the table. "We're going to be making another attempt to dial Destiny—this time from the alpha site. Colonel Carter and Dr. McKay were recalled to earth to run the operation, and they've figured out a way to power the gate using a series of ZPMs."

"Is it safe?"

"They aren't sure. They need to talk to Rush."

Young laughed shortly.

"We need him to use the stones."

"Good luck. He hasn't used the communication device for—what, a year now?"

"I wonder why," Telford said dryly.

Young looked down at his hands. "You're never going to get him to agree to go back."

"Maybe not _voluntarily_."

Young's eyes snapped to the other man's face. "What are you saying, David?"

"You know as well as I do that if Carter and McKay come here to assess feasibility, he's going to run them around in circles. He knows these systems better than anyone. He completely snowed the first science team we sent, and that was after he'd only been here for a few _weeks_. We _still_ don't know what he did or how he did it. And he's much more experienced now."

"Maybe," Young said, frowning. "But Carter and McKay are—"

"Excellent scientists, I know. But politically? They're no match for Rush. He's going to outmaneuver them."

"David—"

"He needs to be on _E__arth_, Everett. With no opportunity to manipulate systems, no way to undermine—"

"Rush wants a supply line as much as anyone," Young pointed out. "I doubt that he would sabotage any effort that could provide us with materials to fix this ship."

"Even if he's replaced as head of the science team the _second_ additional personnel come through that gate? Because that's what's going to happen." Telford brought his hand down on the metal surface of the table.

"That's not your call to make, David." Young said quietly. "Unless _I'm_ being replaced as well."

Telford gazed at him steadily.

"That decision has not been made as of yet."

"I see."

"Get Rush to use the stones, colonel. That order comes down from General O'Neill."

"I'm not going to force _anyone_ to switch consciousnesses with another person."

Telford leaned back, looking away. "You may not have a choice in the matter."

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"We've been studying the Ancient communication device. If an individual has used the stones, even one time, there may be a way of replacing that person without activating a terminal on this end."

Young shook his head, his hand curling into a fist. "_That_," he said pausing pointedly, "is a can of worms you do _not_ want to open, David."

"We'll be the judge of that."

"So—what, then? You're just going to yank Rush back, with no warning, against his will, if I don't get him to cooperate?"

"That's the plan," Telford said.

"That's a terrible plan."

"The man is obstructionist at _best_. At worst he's actively sabotaging your attempts to get home. He's a master manipulator and a danger to this entire mission. I don't see why you, of all people, are defending him."

Young rubbed his jaw. "The man is a lot of work. I'm the first to admit that." He eyed Telford speculatively.

"And I'm not saying I disagree with your assessment. But—" he paused, leaning back, crossing his arms over his chest, "I have to admit, I looked into his background a bit, last time I used the stones."

"Did you," Telford said, looking away.

"Do you know what Rush did before he was recruited to stargate command?" Young asked.

"The same thing that any of them do," Telford said. His was tone flat, his expression guarded. If he was surprised by Young's apparent non sequitur, he didn't show it.

"He was a college _math_ professor."

"What's your point?"

"I'm just wondering where he learned it all."

"Learned what?" There was no question about it—Telford was actively avoiding his gaze.

"Learned to _read_ people—to _manipulate_ them like he does. I wonder why he feels it's _necessary_." Young paused. Telford still failed to meet his eyes. "Tell me, David, did you interact with him much on the Icarus base?"

Telford shifted minutely in his chair before looking up. "Not any more than I interacted with any other scientist."

"See," Young leaned forward. "I find that interesting. Because I'm _sure_ he was a high profile Lucian Alliance target and as you were under their influence at that time—"

He left the sentence unfinished.

"What exactly are you implying?"

A frozen silence descended between them.

Young let it stretch out, uncomfortable and long.

"Nothing," he said, finally, his tone neutral. "Just making an observation."

"I have to get back," Telford said shortly. "We'll be expecting that report within the next twenty-four hours. When you deliver it, you can let us know when Rush will be using the stones."

Telford didn't wait for his reply, but reached over to disconnect the stone he had placed on the interface. After a few seconds, Young found himself looking into the face of Lieutenant Scott.

"That was quick," Scott observed. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Young responded. "There's a new plan to dial Destiny in the works."

"So what else is new?" Scott asked wryly.

Young was about to respond when his radio crackled.

"Colonel Young, come in." It was Greer.

A feeling of dread pressed down on his chest at the sergeant's tone. It was an effort to lift the radio.

"Go ahead."

"Sir, we have something of a situation in the chair room. I think you might want to get down here."

"Damn it," Young whispered, closing his eyes.

"Sir?" Scott murmured.

When Young opened his eyes again it was to Scott's outstretched hand. He took it, hauling himself to his feet.

"Let's go, lieutenant."

When they reentered the room, it was not immediately apparent that anything was wrong. Greer prowled the edges of the monitor banks in an uneasy perimeter along the back wall as the science team manned their stations. Rush stood near the chair, a pair of pliers in one hand, clearly worked up about something.

"Hey," Eli said in Rush's direction, frustration evident in his voice, "I _can't,_ okay? It's not a _static system_. It's in some kind of dynamic equilibrium and if I _upset_ that—"

Eli and Rush locked eyes.

"Yes," Rush said, looking away. "I'm aware."

"What the hell is going on here?" Young demanded, interrupting their exchange.

Rush sighed, his hand going to the back of his neck.

It was Eli who answered his question.

"We had to interrupt the power supply running from the chair to the main weapons array, but there was no way to circumvent the adaptive algorithms protecting the chair's central programming. We had to sever the connection manually."

"_And_?" Young prompted.

"And so when Rush approached the chair to open the panel, he kind of—got trapped behind a force field?"

"_What_," Young roared.

Eli and Park flinched.

"I told them it was a bad idea," Greer said from the periphery of the room.

"Rush," Young growled his name, advancing toward the scientist.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Rush said, holding up a hand.

Young stopped where he was.

Rush reached out toward Young, extending his pliers. About six inches from where Young was standing a transparent golden field came into view for a moment as the pliers grazed its border, then vanished again as Rush withdrew them.

"Hurts like hell when you touch it," Rush admitted.

"_Damn_ it, Rush."

Rush shrugged.

"How long is it going to take to get this thing down?" Young turned toward Eli.

No one spoke.

"The fact is, colonel," Rush said quietly, "the field derives its power directly from the chair and ultimately, therefore, from the central core. Which _means_," Rush paused, giving him an inscrutable look, "that dismantling the field is going to be difficult. In the extreme."

"But not impossible." It was a statement, not a question.

"No," Rush said, looking away. "No. Not impossible."

Some of the tension left the room at Rush's words, but Young couldn't bring himself to be relieved. It was _always_ this way with the other man. The scientist had a hold over him that Young couldn't quite identify. Though they existed in an uneasy equilibrium, continuously on the verge of tipping into violence, Young felt a sort of proprietary interest in keeping Rush alive—as if by doing so, he could somehow atone for—

For something that defied atonement.

"What do you need?" he asked Rush. "Carter and McKay are both on Earth. We can get one or both of them on the stones if you think it would be helpful."

"Either would be acceptable," Rush said quietly. "Although McKay, I think, has more experience with this form of technology."

"Done," Young said, nodding to Scott, who left the room immediately. "What else?"

"We could try to reduce ship-wide power levels," Park commented from behind a console. "Fire the weapons, turn systems on. It might cut the power to the field."

Rush shot Park a skeptical look. "Possibly. I'm not convinced it's worth it. We're certainly being pursued. We're likely to drop out of FTL long before enough power is drained to make any kind of impact on this field." He swiped the border of the field with his pliers.

"Fine, we'll hold off on that for now," Young said. "What about you? Can you do anything from in there?"

Rush shook his head and held up the pliers. When he was sure he had Young's attention, he threw the pliers at the control panel at the back of the chair. They were deflected by the same golden energy field.

"Too bad," Young said.

"You're telling me."

"Hey!" They were both distracted by Eli's excited shout. "I think I've got something. The power flow is changing at least—"

Young strode over to stand next to Eli's shoulder. Unfortunately, other than the rapid shifts in color and trajectory of a set of lines, he couldn't make much sense of what he was seeing.

"Changing _how_?" Rush snapped.

"The field harmonics are fluctuating," Brody answered.

"Which means what?" Young asked, his frustration mounting.

"Not sure," Brody responded.

"I would clear this room of nonessential personnel." Rush glanced at him obliquely and then paced back and forth behind the invisible shield perimeter a few times.

"Greer, Park, Volker—out." Young snapped. He caught Rush's eye, and at a subtle head nod from the other man, he added, "Brody, you too."

"Gee. Thanks," Brody said as he stood.

Young's eyes followed them out, only to be distracted as the field surrounding the chair flared to life, glowing visibly in the dim light in the room.

"Oh crap," Eli said. The words were so quiet that Young could barely hear him over the few inches that separated them.

In that moment, the field collapsed inward by several feet. Rush was knocked back it discharged. He hit the ground hard, head impacting the deck plating with an audible crack.

"_Rush_." Young was forward as far as he could go without touching the shield.

No response.

"_Damn it_, Eli," Young spun around. "Did you do that?"

"No! No, I don't think so." Eli grabbed his laptop from the top of the console as he approached the edge of the field. "Is he okay?"

"No idea," Young said shortly.

"This is _so _not good," Eli said. He tilted the laptop, angling the screen to give Young a clear view. "See this?" he continued, "This power fluctuation was _designed _to partially collapse the field. It came from _Destiny's mainframe_."

"So it's what—herding him?"

"Yeah." Eli said, clearly rattled. "Pretty much."

"That's great." Young dug his fingers into his temples. "That's just great."

"Rush," Eli tried again. "_Rush_. Come on. God, I hope he's not dead. Is he even _breathing_?"

Young looked closely, eyes narrowing as he walked away from Eli around the perimeter of the now marginally visible field. He sat, putting himself as close as he could get to Rush, who was now lying at the base of the chair. After several seconds he was able to see the scientist's chest rise and fall.

"He's breathing," Young reassured Eli.

"Should we call TJ?" Eli asked, his eyes flicking constantly between his computer and Rush.

"No," Young murmured. "What's she going to do?"

"Yeah, good point."

Young got as close as close as he could to the faint golden glow.

"Rush," He tried again, low and urgent. "_Rush_, come on. Wake up."

The scientist's eyelids flickered.

"_Rush_," Eli joined him, his voice equally insistent. "Come _on_, man."

Rush's hands came up to his head, and he turned away from them, pushing himself up into a sitting position with his back supported against the base of the chair. Young looked away briefly, knowing that if their positions were reversed, he wouldn't want to show any weakness in front of the scientist.

"Are you all right?" Young asked after a few moments.

"Fine," Rush said briefly. "How long—?" He made a vaguely circular hand gesture.

"Less than five minutes," Young replied.

Rush finally looked up, his expression darkening as he took in the field, glimmering a faint yellow under the dim lights. It created a dome approximately ten feet in diameter.

"It's visible now," Rush sighed. "Perfect."

"What difference does that make?" Young asked.

Rush dropped his head back down into his right hand, massaging his temples, while gesturing vaguely at Eli to explain.

"It's not good," Eli said quietly as he dropped into a cross-legged position next to them. "The field is now stretched over a smaller area, but is drawing the same amount of energy from the core, so—"

"It's stronger," Young finished for him.

"Yeah." Eli compressed his lips.

"Why is this happening?" Young asked. "Why _you_. Why _now_?"

Rush looked at him, his expression closed. "Apparently I've made myself available."

Young glared at him. "Not helpful," he said.

"It's as helpful as anything else is likely to be," Rush replied, pulling one knee into his chest. He glanced up at the chair.

"You are _not_ thinking what I think you're thinking," Eli said.

Rush raised his eyebrows.

"Um," Eli said, drawing out the word. "Are you _crazy_?"

Rush smirked at them both.

"Don't answer that," Eli said.

"No one is sitting in that chair," Young said, shifting out of his kneeling position to sit on the floor a few feet from Rush. He straightened his injured leg. "That's an order."

"Yes yes," Rush replied, tiredly. "Why don't you just order the field to drop while you're at it then?"

"Don't be a smartass," Young replied, but he couldn't put much venom into it, not when Rush looked so miserable.

"Giving up already? That was quick." They all turned to see Volker poking his head in the door.

"Volker?" Young said, twisting, "I thought I told you—"

"Definitely _not_ Volker," the scientist said, striding into the room.

"Rodney," Rush said in greeting.

"Like I said," McKay commented, approaching them, "Definitely not Volker." He looked at Rush. "You look terrible, Nick. Will no one lend you a razor?"

"I have more significant problems at the moment, I'm afraid."

"I know, just observing." McKay snapped his fingers at Eli. "Hey, math boy. Laptop please. Let's get going."

Eli scrambled to his feet and handed his laptop over to McKay, who promptly snatched it out of his hands and headed immediately for the main console.

"You know what your problem is, colonel?" McKay asked as he snapped adaptors into Eli's laptop.

"I'm sure you're about to tell me," Young said from the floor next to the force field.

"Yes. Your _science_ team is being run by two mathematicians. There's a reason it's not called a math team."

"Hey," Eli said indignantly. "I was an engineering major."

"Oh, _I'm_ sorry," McKay said. "Did you graduate? Because normally the use of the word 'major' implies that you have a degree of some kind."

Eli rolled his eyes.

"Watch and learn, math boy," McKay said, eyes tearing over text on the monitors.

Young looked back at Rush who was watching McKay through narrowed eyes. As if he felt Young's gaze on him, Rush looked over.

"I think I might like you better than him," Young said.

Rush smiled faintly. "That would be a first."

"I know," Young said dryly. "That's why I mention it."

"So, tell me about this power fluctuation," McKay said to Eli. "What did you do?"

"_Nothing_," Eli shot back. "It just _happened_."

"I don't think so," McKay scoffed. "Nothing 'just happens' in systems like these."

"Fine," Eli replied. "Then what 'happened' is that Destiny initiated a command to collapse the field by twenty percent."

"No no no no no. See—"

A mechanical trill from Eli's laptop cut McKay off. They both looked down, eyes glued to the screen.

The field glowed a brighter gold, and Rush and Young both shot to their feet. Rush was edging as far back toward the chair as he could get without actually sitting in it.

"Oh crap," McKay said, looking up at Rush.

The shield flared again, collapsing inward by several more feet. Rush flinched back as it progressed toward him. He overbalanced, catching himself with his left hand on the arm of the chair behind him. Almost immediately, several loops of black organic material shot out from the arm of the chair, closing over and around his left wrist.

"What the hell is _that_?" Young shouted.

Rush reacted immediately, stepping forward off the base of the chair, angling himself away from it, twisting his arm and shoulder at an unnatural angle to do so.

"Thank you, Rodney," Rush said over his shoulder. "You've been tremendously helpful."

"Come on, come _on_!" McKay was whispering under his breath as he tried to cut power to the chair. "Sorry," he called in response to Rush's comment.

"This is _messed up_," Eli said, standing shoulder to shoulder with McKay, watching the monitors.

Rush had braced one foot against the base of the chair and had twisted his body around his left shoulder, bringing right hand to left elbow in order to exert the maximum leverage possible. Every few seconds another loop of material shot out of the arm of the chair, further securing his wrist.

Young could see it was a losing battle.

Rush seemed to come to the same conclusion and he stopped struggling, his eyes casting around the space near the chair until he spotted the pliers he had discarded earlier. Untwisting his body, he went for them with his right foot and managed to drag them within reach.

"McKay," Young snapped, "_now_ would be a good time."

Rush had the pliers in hand and was examining the left arm of the chair by pivoting around his left shoulder. Young watched, faintly surprised that the scientist ignored the obvious and didn't go for the straps directly, but instead attempted to remove the panel from which the material had emerged. His features were set in absolute concentration.

For a few moments Young paced back and forth in front of the shield, not wanting to distract either Rush or McKay.

The panel Rush had been working on clattered to the deck plating.

"Power levels are spiking," Eli snapped.

As if he had expected Eli's pronouncement, Rush stepped back onto the base of the chair, most of his weight supported by his left forearm, which was now entirely immobilized. His body was bent in a painful looking arc, right arm drawn in against his chest, trying to avoid touching the chair.

"Aren't you supposed to be _cutting_ power?" Young growled in McKay's direction.

"_Not helpful_, colonel," McKay snapped back.

Young turned back to Rush just in time to see another strap shoot out of the base of the chair. "_Left ankle_," he shouted at the scientist, and Rush slid his boot forward just in time to avoid being caught. Young moved as close to Rush as he could.

"When the shield collapses," he said, "you're going to have to stay absolutely still."

"_Obviously_," Rush said through clenched teeth, "but I can't hold this position forever."

"Give McKay a chance," Young replied.

The shield flared and stabilized a few inches from the base of the chair.

Rush held steady.

"Hang in there," Young said. He turned back to McKay and Eli. McKay's mouth was set in a grim line. He looked up as Young approached.

"The ship is fighting me," McKay said quietly before Young could speak. "This isn't a protective network of interlocking algorithms preventing manipulation of the chair. This is a full-blown _AI_ embedded within Destiny's CPU. Even if I _could_ dismantle it, which I _doubt_, I can't predict what the consequences of that would be for the ship as a whole."

"We always suspected that something like this might lie at the heart of the mainframe," Eli said, equally quietly.

"So you can't get him out," Young said.

"No." McKay whispered. "Not a chance."

Young looked at Eli, who shook his head.

"But," McKay said, "He may be able to get _himself_ out, once he actually sits in the chair. If it," the scientist paused, waving a hand vaguely, "you know. Doesn't kill him."

"Okay," Young said, forcing a strength into his voice that he didn't feel. "Keep learning what you can."

He walked back over to the chair.

Rush turned his head to look at Young.

Young wasn't sure what to say. He swallowed.

Rush gave him that superior smile—the one Young had always hated.

"I'm never going to let you live this down, Rodney," Rush raised his voice and looked briefly over at McKay before straightening slightly and dropping purposefully into the chair.

The restraints closed immediately with an ominous clang.

The neural interface bolts did not engage.

Young glanced back over his shoulder, locking eyes with Eli who shrugged at him nervously before looking back down at the monitor in front of him.

"This is new," Rush murmured, watching as a panel emerged from the side of the chair near his left shoulder and projected a grid of blue-white light over his neck and the side of his head.

"Eli?" Rush asked, only a slight tick at the corner of his mouth betraying any anxiety.

"It's scanning you," Eli responded quickly. "It just ID'd you as—not Ancient. Hopefully it's not pissed about that. We're getting your vitals, and what looks like some kind of biochemical analysis."

"That can't be right," McKay said from beside Eli.

Rush's eyes flicked to Young and then back toward the device that was scanning him. Young had to admit, that although the military personnel often accused the scientist of cowardly self-interest, the man certainly had the capacity for equanimity under pressure.

"Eli?" Rush asked again.

"Um, so actually I think it's not so much analyzing something biochemically as performing an organic synthesis?"

"I do _not_ like the sound of _that_," Young said.

"For what purpose?" Rush cut across Young impatiently.

"Not sure, but I bet we're going to find out any minute here." McKay's eyes were glued to the screen.

With a sudden hiss, the panel near Rush's shoulder opened and a hydraulically powered projectile launched itself at the side of the scientist's neck, just above his clavicle, carrying thin tubing behind it. Rush flinched, biting his lip, but didn't make a sound.

Young grimaced.

"Rush?" Eli asked uncertainly.

"Yes yes," Rush said, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm fine."

"You're getting some kind of salt solution right now," Eli said.

"Normal saline, actually," McKay corrected. "Hopefully it's not a million years old and contaminated with Ancient bacteria."

"Ugh," Eli said.

Rush eyed the pair of them incredulously.

"Rush," Young said quietly. "We'll get you out of there."

"I find your platitudes infinitely reassuring. By all means, continue."

"I'm serious," Young said.

"I'm aware," Rush said dryly.

Young doubted that Rush noticed when the fluid in the tubing changed from clear to a pale phosphorescent green, but the scientist's eyelids seemed to grow heavier.

"Rush," Eli said sharply.

"Eli," Rush answered, his diction losing some of its precision.

"You're getting the synthesized compound now," Eli rounded the monitor bank to stand next to Young. "How do you feel?"

"Tired," Rush slurred, his eyelids flickering.

"_Hey_," Eli said, waving his hands, trying to catch Rush's attention. "Hey, you need to stay _awake_. _Rush_."

No response.

"I'm reading delta waves on the monitors," McKay called out. "He's out cold."

The sudden crack of the neural interface bolts engaging caused Young to jump. Beside him, Eli jerked back a few feet involuntarily, and Young reached out to steady him, a hand on his shoulder. Eli pulled away almost immediately, rejoining McKay behind the consoles.

"What have we got?" Young asked the pair of them.

Eli pressed a series of buttons and projected a display into midair. "We've got his vitals, which appear to be stable," McKay said, gesturing across the display from left to right, "We've got something that seems like the equivalent of an EEG, which is showing delta waves, and we've got sympathetic activation, which I'm assuming translates to a rough gauge of pain and or panic. He just dropped to nothing, probably as a result of whatever he was injected with."

Young grabbed his radio. "TJ, this is Young. Can you get up to the chair room?"

"Be right there," she responded quickly.

"Bring your kit," he added.

"Of course," she responded.

Young rubbed his jaw, looking up at the displays. He found it odd that the ship had drugged Rush before activating the neural interface. "Any idea what Destiny wants with him?" Young asked, glancing over at the other two.

"Not clear," McKay murmured, "although, another readout just popped up. Let's see—"

Young stepped in to peer over McKay's shoulder.

"Ah." McKay said after a few minutes. "I think this is a representation of the Ancient genetic code." He pointed to a rapidly progressing list of characters running across the top of the display. "And this is Rush's." He pointed to a second series progressing across the bottom.

"It's comparing them," Eli said quietly. "Maybe it's trying to learn about us?"

"Maybe." McKay frowned. "But from the limited briefing I got, it seemed like it trapped him _specifically_."

As they watched, the characters scrolling across the screen came to a halt and a new window opened. It was uncomplicated, displaying what looked like single progress bar.

"What does that say?" Young asked, pointing to the only words on the screen.

Eli sighed and looked down.

"Percent complete." It was McKay who answered him. "I think it's planning to modify him. On a genetic level."

"_Damn_ it."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

* * *

><p>Young perched on a stool in the neural interface room behind the main console, his good leg hooked around one of the metal rungs. TJ stood next to him, her eyes on the glowing displays projected in midair. Eli and McKay-as-Volker murmured over a laptop, going through a newly unlocked portion of the central mainframe. Greer was posted just inside the sealed door, his rifle held loosely in his hands, his eyes rarely leaving Rush. The five of them had been there for just over six hours by Young's count.<p>

"Colonel," TJ said softly, catching his attention. "His vitals still look stable. Permission to grab some dinner for everyone from the mess?"

"Hang on, TJ." Young turned toward Greer, motioning with his head for the sergeant to join them. The three of them approached Eli and McKay.

"How's it looking?" Young asked.

"Genetic modification is eighty-five percent complete." McKay grimaced and rubbed his jaw. "We've got about an hour left before it's done with—well, whatever it's doing."

"Okay." Young's voice was clipped, and he saw TJ give him a startled glance out of the corner of his eye. "Here's what's going to happen." He crossed his arms. "By now, the entire ship knows that Rush is back in the chair. They do not, however, know about this." He pointed at the progress bar that was tracking the extent of the genetic changes. "It's going to stay that way. At least for now."

Greer and TJ responded with quick nods—that was all he needed from them.

"More secrets," Eli said. "Good times."

Young cocked his head, and Eli nodded wearily in response.

McKay didn't meet his eyes.

"McKay," he said. The other man's name was both a question and a warning.

"Look," the scientist said, his shoulders hunched. "This isn't really something I can easily leave out of a report, you know? I mean, what with the umm, shall we say 'aggressive' technology? The dubiously safe genetic transformation of a human into an _Ancient_? A 'partial-Ancient' I grant you and, true, they're physiologically similar to us but _still_—" McKay broke off as Young raised a hand, palm up to try and stem the verbal onslaught.

"I know John Sheppard," Young said quietly, "and from what he's told me, you're a man of your word, who has been known, on occasion, to circumvent the chain of command."

"I'm sure that's not all he's told you." McKay rolled his eyes. "But let's cut to the chase, shall we? I'm going to need a damn good reason to keep this out of my report, and you know it."

"How about that on a mission like this one, undermining confidence in the chief scientist could lead to significant loss of morale and potentially cost lives."

It was true as far as it went, but Young was fairly certain that it wasn't going to fly with McKay.

"Nice delivery," McKay said, getting to his feet, "but I destroy people's credibility all the time. It's actually a specialty of mine."

"The recent attack on command headquarters by the Lucian Alliance demonstrates that there are significant intelligence leaks within the command hierarchy."

This was _also_ true. Unfortunately, McKay didn't look at all swayed.

"Look," McKay said, pointing his finger directly in Young's face. "Nick Rush is an arrogant asshole. I don't really like him that much. I'm the first to admit it. But in the interest of arrogant assholes _everywhere_, I am not going to stand by and let you use this as an excuse to get rid of him, or whatever euphemism you want to use, because he happened to be unlucky enough to be both irritating and modified to interface with this ship." McKay paused to take a breath. "Don't think that the entire mess where he got swapped with Telford and then almost _murdered_ went unnoticed, even if it happened _billions _of lightyears away from Earth. Or Pegasus. My point is, that no one would ask any questions if he happened to be killed using the chair, but telling everyone he's been somehow modified and then barring him from access to critical systems, which he'll _always_ find a way to circumvent because he's a _brat_ when it comes to workarounds, and then ultimately executing him as a security risk is so much more _messy_ than just killing him now. All of this," McKay said, his eyes sweeping over everyone in the room, "_a__ll of this_ is going into my report and is going to be dealt with in a civilized way. Not—however you people are doing things out here these days."

"Are you done?" Young asked him, letting just a hint of the irritation he was feeling seep into his tone.

"For now."

"I'm not going to kill him," Young began, crossing his arms.

"Do I look reassured?" McKay mirrored his gesture.

"Let me finish. There _are_ morale concerns, which are considerable, and there _are_ tactical concerns. There's also a third problem, which I would have preferred _not _to mention." He grimaced faintly and swept his eyes over the other four.

McKay's stance softened somewhat.

"It goes without saying that this piece of information doesn't leave this room. I was informed earlier today by Colonel Telford that Homeworld Command is working on a way to replace people on Destiny using the communications stones _without_ using the terminal. Meaning that they may be able to replace people against their will."

"What?" TJ gasped.

"That project was cancelled," McKay interrupted, shaking his head. "Carter pulled the plug on it as soon as she was placed in command of the RSM. Resupply Mission."

"According to Telford," Young said, "it's continued. Not only that, but they're _days_ away from piloting it. On _Rush_."

"Shit," Greer said.

"Does he know?" Eli asked.

Young shook his head. "If they learn that that _this_ is going on," Young motioned over his shoulder toward the chair at the center of the room, "they'll likely move up that timetable and extend the duration they keep him for. _If_ they're planning on letting him come back, that is."

"Those stones have been nothing but trouble," McKay said, looking away. "God, I bet that's what Bill Lee has been working on for the past two months. But if Carter doesn't know about this—who could they possibly swap him—" McKay trailed off.

"I'll give you one guess," Young said wryly.

"Telford." McKay said. "There is something _wrong_ with that guy."

Young ignored the comment. "Right now, we have to decide what to do about this mess," Young said, glancing over at the neural interface device where Rush still sat, immobilized.

"Okay," McKay said. "Let's say I agree to this, at least for the time being. Once I'm back on Earth, I'm going to need some kind of evidence that this is the right way to proceed."

"Such as?" Young broke in.

"Such as boy wonder over here letting me know that Nick is still _alive_ for one," McKay shot Young a dark look.

Young wasn't sure he could blame him for the sentiment.

"I'll look into this from my end," McKay continued. "If I find any evidence that your theory about the stones is correct, I'll do what I can. If I _don't_," McKay paused to give Young a hard look, "I'm going to reassess withholding information about the genetic changes."

"Fair enough," Young said. "I'll send Eli through on the stones to report to you in three or four days."

"Make it three."

Young nodded. "Get back to the SGC. There's nothing more you can do here."

"Says the _colonel_ to the _astrophysicist_?"

"What I _mean_ is," Young said, hearing an edge creep into his tone, "that you're just going to end up having to further redact your report. Eli can handle things from here on out, unless you think there's any chance of coming up with a way to reverse—" he waved a hand in the direction of the monitors, "whatever bullshit is happening here."

"Fine," McKay said. He turned to Eli, who was still seated at the control panel. "What a delightful workplace environment."

"Um," Eli said, glancing at Young and then back at McKay.

"Are you going to be able to bring them up to speed?" McKay asked.

"No problem," Eli said.

"Sergeant, escort Dr. McKay back to the communication stones," Young said, catching Greer's eye, "then swing by the mess to grab some dinner for the four of us and report back here."

Greer and McKay left the room. Young turned to Eli. "You still figure we have an hour before anything happens?"

"Yeah," Eli nodded. "The rate of—modification hasn't changed so, barring any weirdness, that should be about right."

Young turned to TJ. "Take a break. Be back here in fifteen."

She nodded and left the room, her hair catching the corridor light as she passed through the doors.

Young and Eli sat in silence for a few moments before Eli couldn't take it any more.

"You know," he said, looking over at Young, "I can't figure out why this didn't happen to Dr. Franklin, when he sat in the chair."

"Maybe it did," Young said darkly, feeling his guts twist at the mention of the other man.

"No." Eli was emphatic. "Definitely not. I'm not sure if McKay and I made this clear, but the neural interface is not active right now. At least—not in the way that we've seen it active before. It's not dumping any information into his brain."

"What do you think that means?" Young asked.

Eli shrugged and gave Young a wan smile. "I don't know. But, if I had to guess, I'd say it's _waiting_. It's waiting until he's changed."

"How extensive are these changes likely to be?"

"Very extensive. He's going to be over sixty percent Ancient."

"How does that compare to the gene therapy they're doing on Atlantis?"

"That's _one gene_," Eli said. "Here? It's going to be more like tens of thousands of genes."

They were both silent for a span of minutes.

"So—are we talking about something like what happened with Chloe?" Young asked, still trying to get a handle on the implications of the situation. "The person we know is going to start to disappear?"

"There's no way to tell what it's going to be like," Eli said, his eyes fixed on Rush. "Personally, I'm hoping he gets nicer."

Young glanced at him obliquely. "You are not."

"I admit nothing," Eli said.

Greer walked back into the room with four bowls stacked on a tray. TJ was behind him with water, having met up with him somewhere along the way.

"Take a break, Eli," Young said. "Fifteen minutes."

"Eh, I'm good." Eli grabbed a bowl.

Young nodded. "Okay. Want to let us in on what you and McKay uncovered?"

"So," Eli said, downing a spoonful of protein mixture, "a new part of the database opened up when Rush sat in the chair this time. Or I guess, when he was, like, assaulted by the chair. Trapped. Kidnapped. Whatever. We got access to some info describing Destiny's CPU, which has always been—very protected from our inquisitive little programs and attempts at influencing systems. Destiny's always been—locked down in tiers. When we came, we had access to nothing. When Rush cracked the code and found the bridge, we got more. This time, we got some details about the computational structure of the ship. We've _suspected_ that Destiny had some kind of AI buried in its inner workings, but now we can confirm that for sure. The adaptive algorithms that were locking Rush out of fixing the main weapon are part of a totally legit, computationally expensive artificial intelligence. It's designed to monitor and interact with the people on board the ship. Its purpose is likely to protect the ship in the event of some kind of incursion. We never triggered any kind of defensive measures from the AI, but we _have_ interacted with it. I'm pretty sure it's the AI that sets the countdown clock and generally plots our course. This explains why it's always been _such_ a pain to mess with the freaking _timer, which _has the annoying and terrifying habit of stranding people on planets, not that I know that from personal experience or anything."

"Okay," Young said, "but why did it not respond when Rush cracked the code and took control of the ship? You would think that that kind of thing would get its attention, especially since he's not an Ancient," Young said.

"I'm not sure," Eli replied, swallowing another spoonful of protein mix. "But ah—I think that maybe we should consider the possibility that it _did_ respond, and he just didn't mention it."

"Classic Rush," Greer murmured.

"Yeah," Eli said, "but to be fair, I'm not sure that revealing that invisible computer programs are talking to you is a smart plan, especially if you're already a little bit on the eccentric side."

"Continue," Young said, waving Eli on.

"Okay, so only by having an Ancient sit in the chair can you unlock access to every system on the ship and use Destiny the way it's meant to be used. I think that this was probably a safety mechanism to some degree, like it would prevent the ship from falling into the wrong hands, but it's also integral to operating the ship efficiently."

"So why is this happening now?" TJ asked. "The ship could have done this at any time, and to anyone who sat in the chair. To Franklin, or Chloe. Or to Rush himself for that matter. Last week."

Eli shrugged. "I can't tell you for sure, but it's possible that it tried with Franklin and _realized_ it was unsuccessful. Or partially successful. It may have taken the ship a while to figure out that we're not actually Ancients."

"So—when it's done with the modifications, you think it's going to try an information dump?" Young asked.

"I don't know," Eli said, looking down at his protein mixture. "Maybe. It seems likely."

"What if it doesn't let him out?" TJ asked quietly. "It might be able to sustain him for quite some time."

Young hadn't even _considered_ that possibility.

"Yes," Eli said firmly. "It's going to let him out. It's a very invasive—" he waved his spoon in a circle, searching for the right word. "_Scary_ technological interface, but it's designed to work with a humanoid species and that makes me think there are limits to how far it's going to push him. Plus, it doesn't make any sense to invest so much effort to change him if it's just going to kill him via dehydration or—whatever."

"So you think the chair is being careful." Young stated.

"I think it's being _very_ careful." Eli replied.

"That is creepy as _hell_," Greer added.

"Yeah," TJ agreed.

Young took a few bites of his protein mix, turning everything over in his mind. He agreed with Eli's assessment that the chair was unlikely to end up physically killing Rush. He was less clear on whether the person who came out of the chair would be the same person who had gone in.

They continued to eat in silence. When they were done, Greer resumed his place near the door. Eli returned to reading the newly unlocked database, while TJ kept a watchful eye on Rush's unchanging vitals. Young absently rubbed his injured knee, his eyes straying back and forth between the other three, avoiding the chair.

"Three minutes," Eli said quietly.

Young pushed himself off his stool. In his peripheral vision he saw Greer straighten at his post near the door. Young over moved to stand next to TJ.

"Any change?" he asked her.

"Not yet."

"Okay," Eli said. "It's done."

As soon as he said the words, the displays in front of them changed. Young could see variations in amplitude and frequency begin in nearly every parameter that was being modified.

"His heart rate is rising," TJ said quietly. "His pressure is falling."

"That isn't a good thing, I take it," Young said.

TJ glanced at him. "No," she said. "It's not a good thing."

"The neural interface is charging up," Eli called across to them. A few seconds went by and Young could hear the ascending mechanical hum they'd all come to associate with the device.

"The EEG is showing mixed frequencies with sawtooth bursts," TJ said, loud enough for Eli to overhear. "It's like he's in REM sleep."

"This is crazy," Eli said, his eyes still glued to his monitor.

"What's going on?" Young asked, limping over to stand next to Eli.

"So it's not doing an information dump," Eli said, finally looking up. "The transfer is going the other way. It's learning about _him_ by inducing some kind of dream-like state. It's hard to tell from this—but if I had to guess, I'd say it's looking at his memories."

"Hopefully it's just _looking_," Young added darkly, "and not _taking_."

"Whatever it's doing, it's stressing him considerably," TJ commented. "He can't handle this for very long."

"How long are we talking about?" Young asked.

TJ crossed her arms. "His vitals are progressively deteriorating. No more than five minutes."

Young felt the abrupt, sickening sensation that came with dropping out of FTL.

The lights dimmed to near blackness.

The vibration of the deck plating under their feet ceased.

"Aw crap," Eli said, rapidly switching displays on his laptop. "We just lost power ship-wide. Or—mostly. We're okay in here, actually."

Young's radio crackled. "Colonel Young, this is Brody."

"Go ahead."

"We've got massive power failures all over Destiny, including life support, weapons, shields, sensors, and sublight engines. You name it, it's down."

"Damn it," Young hissed. He looked at Eli. "Do you think Rush is doing this?"

"I'm relatively sure he's not doing it _on purpose_, but there is no way that this is not related."

"We need sensors and weapons back, Eli," Young growled.

"Oh _really_?" Eli snapped, rounding on him. "Well, we also need _life support_ back. I can't fix a_nything_ if there's no power. I'm—"

The lights flared to full brightness, and Young flinched, his hand coming to his eyes. At the same time he felt the reassuring buzz of the sublight engines engaging beneath the deck plating. A mechanical shriek echoed throughout the ship, tearing through a speaker system that Young hadn't known existed.

"What the hell is _that_?" Greer had to shout to be heard.

"I don't know," Eli yelled back. "Some kind of sound system? It's news to me, whatever it is."

Young's radio crackled. Brody's voice was barely audible over the noise. "We've got systems activating all over the ship. Everything is back. I don't even know what most of this stuff _is_."

TJ had her hands over her ears and Young followed suit. As he listened through the barrier of his fingers, the sound began to fade into something more intelligible. He heard hints of voices talking over one another. As he listened, musical phrases faded in and out through the static.

Slowly the sound resolved into something recognizable. Young dropped his hands.

"What _is_ that?" Eli asked, finally.

For a long moment, no one answered as they listened to the clear sound of a solitary piano.

"That's Rush," Greer said quietly, his thumbs hooked over his rifle strap as he looked at the ceiling. "Doing his thing."

"His thing?" Young echoed.

"Look at this," Eli said over the music, pointing at the screen of his laptop. "We've got internal sensors, we've got an intercom system, we've got research labs, plus the _entire_ ship database and mainframe are unlocked. Shields and weapons are at one hundred percent, the main weapon is back online and we've got backup power generators coming online all over the place. And that's just—the obvious stuff."

"So you're telling me that this is a good thing."

"Are you _kidding_? This is awesome."

Young's radio came to life again. "Colonel, we may have a problem." It was Park this time.

"Go ahead, Dr. Park."

"It's the FTL drive. It just started powering up."

"What about the four hour window?" Young asked.

"It's a conceptual limit, not a hardwired restriction. Plus, the cold restart may have upset Destiny's internal clock. If that drive powers up fully after being off for only a few minutes—well, best case scenario, we blow the drive. Worst case, we blow the ship."

Young looked over at Eli, who was shaking his head.

"Have you tried to manually override?"

"Yes. No effect. Any chance of getting Rush to help us out with this one? Is he still in the chair?" Park asked hopefully.

"He is. We can't communicate with him though."

"Eli?" Young asked, turning toward him. "How long do we have, can you tell?"

Eli grimaced. "No." He grabbed his radio. "Park, are you seeing what I'm seeing? This is not the normal startup sequence."

"Yeah, I read that."

Eli turned to Young. "I think this is Rush." He turned to his laptop. "I _hope_ it's Rush. Otherwise we're in trouble."

"How long until we jump?" Young asked.

"Um, twenty seconds?"

The music overhead shut off.

"Eli," Young snapped.

"I don't know. I don't _know_."

The ship shuddered and Young cringed as he felt the sickening drop in his stomach that came with an FTL jump. Young looked around to see Greer, TJ, and Eli hunched uncomfortably, waiting for gravitational shear forces to rip through the ship's hull.

Nothing happened.

"Are we good?" Young asked Eli after a few long seconds.

"Yeah, I think we're good."

"Well shit," Greer added for good measure.

They breathed a collective sigh of relief. Young caught TJ's eye and closed a hand over her shoulder. She smiled weakly back at him.

"How are we doing here?" Young asked, looking up at the screens TJ had been studying.

"His vitals have stabilized again," TJ murmured, "and his EEG is registering almost no activity. He's got extremely low amplitude waves. I'm not really sure what that signifies."

"It doesn't sound _good_ though," Young commented.

"Not the best, no," TJ murmured back at him.

They all looked up as the diffuse golden force field surrounding the chair flickered and then dropped.

"Oh hey," Eli said. "This looks promising."

Young watched as the midair displays turned from a golden-orange to blue. A panel opened and a touchscreen interface slid out of the back of the chair near Rush's left shoulder. Eli launched himself out of his seat and made a beeline for the panel. As he went by, Young grabbed the back of his shirt.

"Not so fast," Young said, pulling him back.

"Hey," Eli said, pulling away from him. "I don't think he's going to be able to get out of the chair on his own. Not this time. There wouldn't be an interface if we weren't supposed to _use_ it."

"Okay," Young said. "We're going to _look_." He gave Eli's shoulder a gentle shake. "_Look_ but not _touch_."

They walked forward cautiously.

The chair hummed quietly.

Young kept himself positioned slightly in front of Eli.

"Are you—getting anything out of this?" Young asked after they had studied the Ancient writing on the panel for a few minutes.

"It's another interface device," Eli said, from his position slightly behind Young. "My guess? It's going to let whoever touches it connect directly to Rush."

"Connect as in—"

"As in mentally."

"Ah."

"Fun times," Eli said. "I'm sure his brain is totally normal."

Young sighed. "Any clue what we have to do?"

"Not really. I can check the newly accessible portions of the database."

"All right." Young grabbed Eli's shoulder, steering him back away from the chair. He looked over at TJ. "His vitals are stable for now, right?"

She nodded. "For now," she echoed warningly. "We should try to get him out in the next few hours."

Young nodded. "Give it an hour, learn what you can." He turned to TJ. "I'll be back in twenty. Call me if anything changes."

He limped out into the corridor, heavily favoring his injured leg. He was on his way to the bridge when the sound of his own name stopped him.

"Everett."

The voice was familiar.

It was cutting.

It was both tonally flawless and contextually impossible.

He turned slowly, and came face to face with something that looked out at him from behind the hazel eyes of his ex-wife.

Its hair was shining under the fluorescent lights. Its mouth was tight and unhappy. It watched him from beneath lowered brows.

"Emily," he responded scanning the corridor. "Although—I doubt that's who you really are."

It leaned against one of the bulkheads, its white shirt glaring under the lights.

"Perceptive," it admitted. "Though it's not exactly rocket science."

He crossed his arms.

He wished the ship had chosen someone else to impersonate so perfectly.

Anyone else.

"What, no appreciation for my adoption of human colloquialisms?" It quirked the right side of Emily's mouth, stealing her self-deprecating smile.

"You must be Destiny." Young kept his voice perfectly even.

"Your approximation is barely adequate," it said. "I'm the AI at the center of Destiny's mainframe."

He uncrossed his arms, coming to a casual parade rest, trying to appear unruffled, though he suspected it was a bit late for that. "So—are you going to tell me something useful? Such as how to get my chief scientist out of your god damned chair?"

It raised an eyebrow. "You already know how to get him out."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because, Everett," it said, managing to lace his name with Emily's most disdainful tone, "you're asking the wrong question."

He looked at her steadily.

"The question you should be asking," Destiny-as-Emily said, "is not _how_ to pull him out, but _who_ is going to do it."

"Does it matter?"

"Yes." It brushed Emily's shoulder-length hair out of its face.

Young tried to control his mounting irritation. "Can you stop being so damn cryptic?"

It looked away.

"It's complicated. I'm sure eventually Eli will explain it to you in excruciating detail. For now, suffice it to say that whoever pulls him out of that chair needs to be a match for him in terms of force of will."

"Force of _will_?" Young repeated skeptically.

"A handful of people on this ship are capable of separating his mind from Destiny," it said. "But only two people on this ship are capable of _keeping_ them separate."

"So—this is going to be a long-term thing?" Young asked, eyebrows lifting.

"Don't assume that we share a common concept of time, Everett. We share—very little."

"Yeah," he said. "I get that. You seem more interested in _taking_."

It looked at him silently for a moment before speaking. "He will not leave this ship again."

"And the person who pulls him out of the chair?"

It gave him another inscrutable look, adopting Emily's most stoic expression.

"Okay," he said after a moment. "I'll play along. Who are the two?"

"Lieutenant Johansen and yourself."

"TJ?"

"Yes. She would be my choice."

"And why is _that_?" Young snapped.

"Many reasons, not the least of which is that she hasn't tried to kill the man in question," it replied.

He considered it for a moment, assessing TJ as a counterpoint to Rush. She was kind where he was calculating. She was straightforward where he was manipulative. She was an excellent soldier, whereas Rush was probably the most difficult individual he'd ever had under his command. TJ wouldn't hesitate if he asked her to do this. She wouldn't question him even for a second.

"What about Camile Wray?" he asked, "Or even Eli?"

"Neither would succeed in grounding him against the pull of the ship. You would lose them both."

Young looked away from the AI, down the long corridor that spread out in front of him.

When he looked back, it was gone.

"That's _it_?" He glared at the spot Emily had occupied. "That's all I get?"

He stood for a moment, trying to shake the feeling of dread that had settled around his chest like a band. He believed without a doubt that the ship, or the AI, or _whatever_ he had just spoken to was correct in its assessment. He couldn't picture any member of Destiny's crew standing up to Rush on a regular basis except for himself. Rush would walk all over Eli—hell, he already did that on a regular basis. He'd tear through Camile Wray at her weak points, which were admittedly few, but present nevertheless. Rush and Greer were about as compatible as nitroglycerin and a hammer—Rush liable to go off at any second and Greer endlessly pounding away.

No.

The AI was right.

It would be him, or it would be TJ. Which really wasn't a choice at all.

Except.

Except he knew which one of them Rush would choose.

It didn't matter. This wasn't Rush's choice to make. It was his.

He turned back the way he had come, pulling his radio off his belt. "Mr. Brody," he said, his voice betraying none of the turmoil he felt, "what's our status?"

"The FTL drive looks fine despite the abnormal startup," Brody responded. "We've got lights on all over the ship, with sealed off areas showing mild power drains. My guess is that we're going to find some interesting stuff behind closed doors."

"Let's keep that on hold for now," Young said, hoping that Park and Volker hadn't gone exploring already.

"Understood," Brody replied.

"Mr. Brody," Young said after a short pause. "I may be—unavailable for the next few hours. Should any emergencies arise, contact Lieutenant Scott."

The silence stretched a bit before Brody answered. "Understood, colonel."

Young limped back along the hallway, his knee burning after so many hours without rest. He nodded to Greer as he reentered the chair room. Nothing had changed since he had left. Rush was still perfectly motionless, eyes closed, the rise and fall of his chest just barely detectable. There was nothing of the almost demonic energy that made him seem so formidable whenever he and Young clashed.

Young was going to save his life.

Again.

And Rush was almost certainly going to hate him for it.

He turned to face Eli. "So, what have you found?"

"Um, I thought I had an hour?"

"What can I say? Things change."

"Meaning—" Eli said, letting the word trail off.

"Meaning I want to know what you've found," Young said.

"In fifteen minutes? More than I expected." Eli admitted. "But that's what you get when everything's accessible."

Young raised his eyebrows.

"Like I said before, the ship was _designed_ to be handled this way. Someone sits in the chair, and it almost sounds like a permanent cognitive connection is created between this person and the ship. The problem is that within this connection the ship is more powerful than the individual it's linked to. They call this person—well, I guess something like 'sentinel' or 'watcher' would be the closest translation, but that sounds a little too 1990s TV, don't you think?"

"Eli."

"Okay, we'll just call this person 'Rush.' Anyway, so presumably Rush is now linked to the ship, and Destiny is sort of pulling on his mind. I'm not too clear on why that's the case. Maybe it's lonely? But it needs him to function optimally. So to counterbalance the pull of the ship, he has to have someone else pulling back, keeping him in his physical body. Or else he dies."

"He _dies_?" TJ echoed sharply.

"Well, not right away. But people aren't ships, obviously. They have to eat and sleep and stuff." Eli shrugged apologetically.

"So whoever volunteers for this job ends up mentally linked to _Rush_?" Greer asked. "_Permanently_?"

"I think so," Eli replied.

Greer whistled quietly. "Not gonna be a lot of takers on that one."

The four of them were silent for a moment.

"It's okay," Eli said, running a hand through his hair. "I'll do it."

"Are you _nuts_?" Greer asked.

Young shook his head. "No. No way."

"Look, _someone_ has to, right?" Eli replied. "I mean we aren't just going to let him _die_." He looked up at Young for several seconds. "Are we." It wasn't a question.

"No." Young said shortly. "_I'm_ going to do it."

They stared at him, eyes wide, mouths slightly open.

No one spoke for a good ten seconds.

"Oh _hells_ no." Greer said. "Sir."

"_You_?" Eli asked incredulously. "That seems like probably the worst idea in the history of ideas."

"He's going to hate it," TJ murmured.

"He's going to hate it _anyway_." Young replied. "And as for why—has it occurred to any of you that even if we successfully manage to dial back to Earth, Rush is likely to be unable to leave this ship? I'm sure whoever pulls him out of that chair runs the same risk. I can't ask that kind of sacrifice from anyone but myself. And I won't."

Eli looked away, clearly uncomfortable.

Greer and TJ watched him impassively.

"So let's do this," Young said to the three of them. "No point in waiting."

Eli cleared his throat. "So, presuming that you're successful, are we telling the rest of the crew about—" he waved his hand in the direction of the chair. "The mind-melding thing?"

Young shook his head. "Not yet. Let's see how this plays out."

They nodded at him.

Young turned to Eli. "Tell me what to do."

Eli shrugged. "I'm pretty sure you just walk over there and stick your hand on the panel."

"I was hoping for something a little more informative."

"Yeah, well weren't we all?" Eli shrugged. "It's not supposed to be difficult."

"If anything happens to me," Young said, looking at TJ and Greer, "you're to follow the orders of Lieutenant Scott."

They nodded at him. TJ took a breath, on the verge of saying something, but she stayed silent. After holding her gaze for a few seconds, Young turned to face the chair.

As he approached it, he studied the panel. It had the color and sheen of obsidian. It was perfectly sized for a human hand.

Or the hand of an Ancient.

For the last six hours, he had avoided looking at Rush. Even now, faced with the prospect of looking into the man's _mind_, he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. Instead, he reached out to lay a hand on the scientist's shoulder.

It was warm under his fingers.

But then, of course it would be.

"Sorry about this," he whispered, tightening his grip briefly before letting go.

Young positioned himself directly in front of the panel and pressed his hand down.

For a moment, he experienced only the sound of his own breathing and the familiar darkness of closed eyelids in a dim room.

And then—

His mind tore outward into an indefinable darkness, caught by forces it could not control and that seemed to exist unopposed, drawing him into a mental space with borders that were hidden, if they existed at all. His thoughts raced through his own internal circuitry and he could feel them there and he could look into the darkness that was the software and the hardware of Destiny and he could recognize his own weak reflection hosted by something that was alien and dark and obscure.

It was easy to recognize Rush, the bright borders of his mind were the only edges definable in this expansive dark. The only boundaries that existed.

He waited.

He assessed.

When he could stand the obscurity no longer, he pried at those borders in a mental rending comprised of pure instinct, until—

His eyes snapped open to the sound of releasing restraints. He staggered, his fingers closing on the arm of the chair.

"Are you all right?" TJ steadied him briefly, her hands on his shoulders, a solid presence at his back before stepping laterally to kneel down in front of Rush.

_Rush_.

There was a strange ache in his wrists that was difficult to ignore.

He pulled his hands away from the chair, struck by a sudden wave of revulsion for its formless mental darkness.

"Dr. Rush?" TJ said quietly. "Dr. Rush, can you—"

"TJ," Young said, mangling her name. "_Move_."

Young leaned forward, grabbed Rush's arm and pulled it around his shoulders. He slid his own arm behind the scientist, lifting him bodily out of the chair. Greer was across from him in a moment and together they moved the scientist a few paces away.

The pain that shot up Young's wounded leg was both immediate and removed.

"Stop." TJ's voice was sharp, and cut through his increasing disorientation. "_Stop_. Put him down. He's bleeding."

They lowered Rush to the floor.

TJ dropped into a crouch next to Young, tearing the worn fabric of Rush's shirt up to the elbow on both sides.

"Shit," Greer said.

A metal bolt of some kind had clearly passed through each of Rush's forearms beneath the restraints, cutting though at least muscle and soft tissue, if not bone, several inches above the wrists.

"How was _that_ necessary?" Eli asked the air above them.

TJ was rapidly disinfecting and tightly bandaging the injuries with gauze.

Young watched her, wishing he could be _sure_ that it was Rush who was injured, rather than himself. The echo of TJ's fingers over his forearms threatened his sense of self.

He tried to pull back and create some kind of mental space between himself and Rush. He got a spike of pain to his temples for the effort and Rush twitched faintly beneath TJ's hands.

The other man was barely conscious, but the force of his mind was _already_ drawing Young in.

"Doctor Rush?" TJ called, rubbing the scientist's sternum with her knuckles, watching for a reaction.

Rush managed to open his eyes again, and Young could _feel_ him try to focus on TJ.

"I think he's still pretty heavily drugged," Young told her, when he had regained his equilibrium enough to speak normally.

"Doctor Rush, can you answer me?" TJ was leaning in, flashing her penlight in Rush's eyes.

Young flinched.

"Doctor Rush, I need you to talk to me if you can." TJ said again.

He _wanted_ to talk to TJ—or—_Rush_ wanted to—

With a mental crack that resembled nothing so much as a breaking dam, Rush began to speak.

Speaking _Ancient_.

As soon as he heard it, Young realized that the other man was _thinking_ it as well.

"Oh _hell_," Young whispered, trying to shut out the alien images coming from Rush's mind that flipped through his waking vision like a transparent series of still frames.

"Uh oh," Greer murmured.

"Eli," Young said, "are you—getting any of this?"

"My spoken Ancient isn't that great," Eli said nervously, "and he's either slurring like crazy or speaking in dialect. He's also not making much sense, as far as I can tell."

"Humor us," Young growled, grabbing Rush's wrist and gently pinning it to the deck as the scientist made an attempt to pull away from TJ. "And cut it out," he snapped at the scientist after another bright, disordered streak of images that didn't belong to him.

TJ shot him a veiled look that clarified into something overtly concerned. "Are you all right?"

Young nodded.

"Okay," Eli said, kneeling down next to Young. "Um, something about taking the first road or ship, or possibly costal road, or possibly the first edge, or maybe arriving at the edge via—"

"Can you," Young said, making an effort to pitch his voice normally, "give us a streamlined sample of this, Eli?"

"And when the suffering arose from a sea of their own making they split against two edges. The first was a breaker of surf and the means by which time and its working might be defeated by infiltration. The second was to find a road that is of its own making." Eli looked up nervously. "I told you. Not making sense."

They all looked over at a distressed hiss from TJ, who had moved down to Rush's feet.

"This is bad," TJ said, locking eyes with Young.

"Yeah," Young said. He didn't have to look. He could _feel_ it. "More bolts."

"Yup," she answered grimly. "Both feet." She was pulling off Rush's boots, which had clearly been ruined by their encounter with the chair. "This is going to be a nightmare."

Eli quietly asked Rush a question in Ancient, and, to Young's surprise, he felt the scientist's mind grasp the meaning of the question and respond.

"I asked him if he felt any pain," Eli said, before Young could ask. "He said his knee hurts. But I'm guessing," Eli looked sideways at Young's cramped position, "that it's actually _your_ knee that's hurting."

No one said anything for a moment, except for Rush, who continued his litany.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

* * *

><p>His wrists <em>really<em> fucking hurt.

Young sat on the edge of a gurney in Destiny's infirmary, elevating his injured leg, and trying to maintain his mental equilibrium. He watched TJ from the corner of his eye as she reorganized her chemical shelf for the third time since he'd started paying attention a few hours previous. It was now well past midnight and although they had been together in the infirmary for the better part of the evening, they hadn't spoken much.

It was probably for the best, Young reflected, since at the moment he wasn't entirely confident in his ability to carry on a normal conversation that lasted more than three minutes.

He looked over at Rush, who was unconscious on the gurney across the way. The man hadn't so much as twitched for the past four or five hours, but Young could feel the constant pressure of his mind and a vague ache in his forearms and feet that would not recede. Physical distance and a few hours to adjust had helped him separate himself from the unconscious ebb and flow of the other man's mind, but he still didn't feel anywhere close to normal.

A cold knot had formed in his stomach at the thought of what was going to happen when the scientist woke up. He tried to avoid imagining worst-case scenarios, although that was his usual habit. He'd already come up with three or four that were gut-wrenchingly awful. The bottom line though, was that whatever connection he had formed with Rush was one _hell_ of a lot stronger than anything he'd been prepared to imagine.

He couldn't believe that the connection was going to get any weaker when Rush regained consciousness.

That was the main reason, though there were others, that he didn't want TJ around when he and Rush had their initial conversation. Unfortunately, she was proving very difficult to get rid of. Young had been entirely unsuccessful so far in his attempts convince her to take a break for food or rest. He surmised that part of it had to do with the fact that it was difficult for her to gauge how stable Rush really was.

Young couldn't help but wonder if on some level, like McKay, she didn't fully trust him where the scientist was concerned.

He narrowed his eyes slightly as he watched her lining up the bottles of different medicinal plants she had collected. As if she could feel his scrutiny, she turned to look at him over her shoulder.

"I think that may be the most intensively organized pharmacy I've ever seen," Young said.

She looked down with a faint smile, embarrassed. Before she could reply, Young plowed ahead.

"TJ, you can't tell me you need to be here right now. Get some rest. That's an order. I'll stay with him."

She shook her head. "Something could go wrong," TJ argued, "and go wrong very quickly. We still don't know the full extent of what happened to him."

"So you're going to stay awake continuously?" Young asked, raising his eyebrows. "Go," he said. "I'll radio you if anything happens." His voice made it clear that this was not a request.

He could tell from her stance that she was still considering refusing his order, but after a few seconds of indecision, she nodded.

"I'll be back on shift in four hours," she said, "and then _you're_ going to get some rest."

"Sure."

"And you'll radio if anything happens." It wasn't a question.

"Of course."

She turned and made her way out of the infirmary. Young gave her a good ten minutes to make sure she wouldn't be stopping back in before he slowly eased his leg down off the gurney.

He closed the inner set of infirmary doors.

He walked back to stand next to Rush, crossing his arms.

He'd had hours to consider whether his planned course of action was wise.

He didn't see much point in agonizing over it further.

Young laid a hand on Rush's shoulder and shook him gently.

Rush's eyelids flickered.

Acting on instinct, Young gave him a cautious mental shove through the link they now shared. He braced one hand against the bed at the disorientation that came with the sensation of waking up when one was already awake.

"Hey," Young said, as Rush opened his eyes. "You're not going to have to relearn English, are you?"

"What?" Rush asked, his thoughts slamming against Young's mind in a wave of confusion as he brought a hand to his eyes to block out the overhead light.

Young's head ached in synchrony.

"Do you know where you are?" Young asked, trying a second opener that was a little more straightforward.

Rush stared at him.

Young stared back.

Within the span of something like two seconds the other man had snapped back to full alertness, recognized his surroundings, and realized that something was terribly wrong.

"Rush," he said, one hand extended to forestall something undefinable. "_Shit_. Just—"

He could barely hold himself together as the full force of Rush's intellect engaged.

It was no _wonder_ the man was difficult to follow on a good day. Young had no idea what he was supposed to be taking from the rapid, nonlinear, non_verbal_ swirl of Rush's consciousness, he had no idea if anything _could_ be taken from it by anyone except for Rush himself, but—

Panic though, _that_, he could understand.

"Just—" he tried again.

Rush launched himself off the gurney toward the infirmary doors. Young, mostly panicked _himself_, and only vaguely possessed of the idea that it would be a bad plan for Rush to leave the infirmary, tackled the other man, bringing them both to the floor. Debilitating pain exploded in his feet as he got the full force Rush's sensations.

He tried to speak but couldn't.

He tried to _think_ but couldn't.

He was so distracted that he didn't see Rush's right hook coming until it smashed into his left eye.

That seemed to focus them both.

"_Damn_ it, Rush."

Young fell back, his hand coming up to his face.

Rush managed to twist out from under him and put several feet of space between them.

Of course, he couldn't go far.

They faced each other, both on the floor, breathing heavily. Young felt the pain from Rush's injuries receding somewhat, and his own knee and eye demanding his attention. Rush was calming down, but it was still impossible for Young to follow the other man's thoughts.

A few long seconds ticked by.

"Hi," Young said finally, one hand still clapped to his face.

"What the _fuck_?" Rush snapped.

Young wasn't sure if that question was rhetorical, or if the scientist wanted an answer. If the other man _did_ want an answer, then Young really had no idea what he was going to say. He decided not to say anything, and instead raised both hands, palms open, hoping to either calm Rush down or ward him off. Maybe both.

"I can hear you _in my_ _head,_" Rush snapped.

Young found it extremely difficult to think.

"Yeah," he replied. "I know."

"You _know_?" Rush gave him an incredulous stare. "Is it just you? Or everyone?"

"Just me. I think."

Rush didn't respond, but Young could feel the scientist's thoughts coming together and then fracturing into multiple paths. The man was looking for any kind of answer from his own mind and finding—nothing.

"You have no idea what happened, do you?" Young asked, his voice and his thoughts quiet.

Rush looked away and shook his head once.

"What _do_ you remember?" Young asked.

He didn't get an immediate answer, but he got a stream of images from Rush, flashes of things he'd worked on, equations, dimly lit terminals—all of it non-linear. In a manner that was not at all transparent to Young, Rush settled on their breakfast conversation about the chair interface.

"That was sixteen hours ago." Young replied to the image before Rush had a chance to verbally answer him.

"Fantastic," Rush said, pressing his fingers to his temples. "So d'you care to fill me in, then?"

"You don't remember sitting in the chair?" Young asked, hoping to trigger a memory.

"No." Rush said shortly. "I'm fairly certain I wouldn't have volunteered for any such thing."

Young's lips quirked in a humorless smile. "You were trapped." He focused on his own memory of the event—of Rush behind a transparent golden field.

The other man's response was immediate, unexpected, and intolerably intense.

His mind tore into Young's, seizing on the memory and then flipping through the incident like a rolodex, leaving disorder in his wake. Rush's mind was every bit as powerful and destructive as Young had imagined it would be.

He was panicking.

Or Rush was.

They both were.

But if he didn't _do_ something, there wasn't going to be anything left of his own mind.

He pushed back with all his strength, trying to shut Rush out of his head.

They stayed locked like that for several seconds, the mental battle as brief and fierce as their physical one had been moments earlier. Finally, with an almost palpable sensation, Rush gave way, jerking back as if he had been slapped.

They faced each other again, breathing hard. For the time being, Young was alone with his thoughts.

"Stay the fuck out of my head," Young growled.

"Out of _your_ head?" Rush repeated, as if the words were being torn from his throat. "You want _me_ to stay out of _your _head? I don't even know how the hell this _happened_, let alone how to keep my thoughts to myself."

Young forced himself to take several deep breaths.

Rush inched backward, away from Young, until he was leaning against the infirmary wall. He looked utterly miserable.

"Sorry," Young murmured.

"Don't be fucking _sorry_," Rush snapped. "I've been trying to block _you_ out since I regained consciousness."

"Fair enough," Young replied. "You want me to _keep_ blocking you out?"

"_Yes_," Rush hissed.

Deciding that this was as close to a truce they were likely to get, Young maintained the block and plowed ahead verbally. "I'm not sure how much you got from that—" he wasn't really sure how to describe Rush's mental assault, so he just waved his hand near his head.

"Very little," Rush said shortly. "Astonishingly, your thoughts are somewhat difficult for me to follow."

"Thanks," Young said wryly. "I think. Anyway, during the attempt to repair the main weapon, you got close to the central interface chair, and it trapped you behind a progressively shrinking force field. We couldn't get you out in time, and you ended up having to sit in the chair. Any of this coming back to you?"

"Unfortunately, no," Rush said, rubbing his temples again. "I'm surprised I'm at all coherent, considering what happened to Dr. Franklin."

"Yeah," Young drew the word out cautiously. "So, your experience with the chair—well, it wasn't exactly the same." He paused, wondering how much to tell the other man. The benefit of holding anything back seemed to be pretty limited at this point.

"In what way?" Rush asked.

"Eli's theory is that it modified you so that you could interface better with Destiny."

"Modified?" Rush's tone was irritatingly controlled, given that the man had just been abducted by a piece of technology, drugged, injured, genetically modified, and then had regained consciousness to find himself with a direct mental line to arguably his least favorite person on Destiny with the possible exception of Volker. The other man was giving _nothing_ away.

"As in genetically modified," Young answered.

"Ah." Rush said. "And how extensive are these—" he waved a hand, "modifications?"

"Sixty percent of your genome," Young said, "give or take."

"Ah."

They were silent for a moment.

"That doesn't really explain hearing your thoughts," Rush said, "unless telepathy was an undisclosed Ancient skill."

"Right," Young said, suddenly uncomfortable. "Someone had to pull you out of the chair," he continued, leaving out the details of what he had learned from the ship itself. "That someone was me, and this is the consequence." He made a sweeping gesture to take in the space between both of them.

Rush looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"Look," Young said, fighting against the build of an insidious headache, "if you don't believe me you can ask Eli. Tomorrow."

"I will," Rush said.

"I'd expect nothing less," Young replied.

They sat in silence for a few more moments before Young got up and walked the few paces over to Rush's side. He knelt down next to him.

"This is fucked up."

"I concur."

There wasn't much of a choice in the matter, so avoiding eye contact and clamping down as hard as he could on the block between their minds, Young gritted his teeth and pulled Rush off the floor. His knee barely held up under the strain of lifting what was, essentially, one hundred and fifty pounds of dead weight, but once he made it to a standing position he was able to walk the few steps required to deposit Rush back on his gurney.

They didn't look at each other.

"You need anything?" Young asked.

"No." Rush shook his head.

Young sighed and turned away. He filled a cup with water and grabbed an extra blanket from one of the empty gurneys. Returning, he dropped the blanket unceremoniously on the end of Rush's bed and put the water down on a nearby table, within Rush's reach.

He crossed his arms.

"You're a lot of work," he said. "You know that, right?"

"It's been mentioned."

"I've got to call TJ." He pulled out his radio.

"Wait," Rush said quietly.

Young paused, eyebrows raised.

"Does she know about this—" he used two fingers to motion between his temple and Young.

"The link between us? Yes. She, Eli, and Greer know about the link and the genetic modifications. They've got orders to keep it under wraps for now."

Rush nodded tiredly. "Maybe we can just—leave it blocked."

"Maybe," Young said skeptically, "But I don't think now is a good time to experiment."

"Possibly not," Rush agreed, and Young took down the block.

Young spoke into his radio. "TJ, are you still awake?"

"Yeah." She responded almost immediately, but Young knew from experience that she had indeed been asleep.

Rush raised an eyebrow at him.

"What?" Young hissed, knowing that Rush had picked up on his previous relationship with TJ after only a few seconds, and that it was most definitely news to the other man.

Rush smirked at him.

"If you weren't in on _that_ piece of gossip, you need more friends," Young growled.

Rush gave him a tired shrug as Young turned back to the radio.

"He's awake," he said shortly.

"I'll be right there," TJ replied.

Young crossed his arms, trying to think of nothing, staring out into TJ's well-organized pharmacy.

"It won't work," Rush said.

"What's won't work?"

"Thinking of nothing. You can't think of nothing for a prolonged period. Focus on something innocuous."

"So you're being helpful now? That's a new one."

"Fuck off," Rush snapped, putting his own point into practice by concentrating on the pain in his forearms and feet with a vindictive intensity. Young had to fight to maintain his own equilibrium as the pain Rush was feeling bored into his consciousness.

Young considered putting the block back in place but figured that was very likely what Rush was trying to get him to do. He gritted his teeth and kept his shields down.

They waited in silence until TJ arrived.

She caught Young's eye as she opened the infirmary doors, and he gave her a subtle nod to indicate that everything was under control. He caught the familiar scent of her hair as she passed him. He couldn't keep it from Rush.

"How are you feeling?" TJ asked the scientist.

"Fine."

"Bullshit," TJ replied, cocking her head to the side, tired enough that her professional veneer cracked slightly.

Her word choice startled a faint smile from Young.

It startled the same expression from _Rush_.

Young was abruptly hit with a wave of confused familiarity as he felt Rush try to integrate his newly borrowed insight into TJ's body language.

Young stood, feeling pain tear through his injured leg.

Rush twitched in response.

"I've gotta get some sleep," he told them. "TJ, you're okay down here?"

She nodded. "I've got it covered."

Young made his way slowly back to his room, practicing maintaining his focus on what he was doing, rather than letting Rush's sensations or waves of indecipherable thought distract him. He had only moderate success, especially when TJ was changing the bandages on Rush's feet.

When he arrived back at his quarters, he was too exhausted to do anything other than lie down on his couch and close his eyes.

* * *

><p>He woke to the sound of someone banging on his door. A glance at his watch showed that he hadn't been asleep for more than four hours. In the back of his mind he could sense Rush, like the man had always been there, dreaming about something that seemed to involve math and Ancient doorways.<p>

"Damn it," he muttered.

Young pulled himself to his feet and opened the door to find Scott standing there with his fist raised, mid-knock.

"Sorry to wake you, sir," Scott said.

"What is it, lieutenant?"

"We dropped out of FTL about five minutes ago."

Young brought a hand up to massage his temples. "How did I miss that?"

"With respect, sir, you're exhausted."

"Anything coming up on sensors?"

"No other aircraft. We're orbiting a moon that—well. Eli says there's something special about its magnetic field that's distorting our sensor signature, so we might avoid attracting any drones. There's some sign of vegetation, so we thought we might take a look."

"I'll be right there," Young said.

"What about Rush?" Scott asked. "Should he—"

"He's off duty," Young replied.

"There's a rumor going around that he was hurt pretty bad."

"He was," Young said shortly, "but he'll be fine."

_Probably_ he would be fine.

Scott nodded briefly.

"I'll be there in five," Young said.

He had time for a quick shave before heading down to the gate room. Eli was already there, yawning as he went over the kino footage from the new planet.

"How does it look?" Young asked, coming up behind him to peer over his shoulder.

"Awesome," Eli said. "Plants everywhere, drones nowhere, creepy aliens _also_ nowhere, and a few hours on the clock."

Young nodded and turned to Scott. "Assemble a team," he ordered. "Check ins every twenty minutes."

"You want to bring TJ in on this?" Scott asked.

Young thought about a potentially supplemented pharmacy.

Then he thought about a potentially crashing chief scientist.

"No," he said to Scott. "She's needed here."

Young stayed long enough to see Scott, Greer, James, and Park go through the gate. Then, clapping Eli on the shoulder, with a brief, "call me if anything happens," he limped down the hallway toward the supply room.

On his way, he turned over the problem of Telford and the communication stones. In addition to the looming threat of involuntary replacement, he now had another significant problem. He was due to give his formal report on the recent attack in less than three hours, and he suspected that using the stones might have significant repercussions for himself and for Rush.

Delivering his report in person was out of the question, but failure to deliver his report would only give Telford more ammunition in his campaign to replace Young and get an alternative team onto the ship.

Try though he might, he couldn't come up with a solution that would last more than three or four days.

Young nodded to Airman Dunning, who was on duty in front of the supply room as he hit the door controls.

He wound his way through stacks of crates until he found the box he wanted. He knew its precise location.

After all, he had packed it.

Spare uniforms, like spare anything else, were hard to come by. All their desert fatigues were in common circulation, and most of what was set aside had belonged to crew members who had died. Or—

Who had been killed.

Young released the metal clamps on the lid of the crate. He reached inside and removed Riley's black outer jacket. He spread it over the surface of a nearby bin. Pulling out his pocket knife, he carefully cut the sergeant's name off the shoulder, leaving a neat, black rectangle where the patch had been. Fishing through the other man's belongings without looking, his hand finally found what it was looking for. He pulled Riley's black, military issue boots out of the bottom of the crate.

He replaced the lid of the crate and left the room.

If Airman Dunning was curious about what he needed the boots and jacket for, he didn't show it.

Young made a brief detour to his quarters and picked up his electric razor on his way to the infirmary.

He limped through the infirmary doors a few minutes later to find TJ pouring over something displayed on her computer terminal.

"How's he doing?"

She looked up, dark shadows under her eyes. "He's okay," her voice was quiet. "Sleeping at the moment."

"I know," Young said quietly.

"Ah." She shifted in her seat. "You can tell?"

He nodded shortly and leaned against the edge of her desk. "What are we looking at, long term?" he asked.

"His wrists are going to be fine. His finger dexterity and sensation are all intact. The bolts didn't break any bones—they passed through the space between the radius and ulna in his forearms," she said, fingering her own wrist. "The damage to his musculature and nerves seems to be minimal."

"What about the feet?"

"So that's a bit more complicated. He's got a broken metatarsal in each foot. The injuries aren't severe, but I don't think they're going to heal very well. He really should stay off them, but there's no way that's going to happen."

"No kidding." Young rubbed his jaw. "Talk to Eli, see if he can think of something. He's good with that kind of thing."

TJ nodded.

"What about the genetic changes?" Young asked.

"Too soon to tell," TJ said. "If Chloe's any indication, these sorts of things need some time to propagate through the body."

"So we wait," Young said quietly.

"We wait."

"In the meantime," he said, shifting the gear he was carrying and laying the bundle down on TJ's desk, "I found him some shoes and a shirt."

"Yeah, his boots are a lost cause," TJ said, smiling ruefully. "And his shirt was starting to look a bit too bloodstained even before I tore the sleeves open. I think he just has that one outfit."

"Yeah, he and Eli were both working right up until the last minute. Neither of them had anything except their laptops."

"Figures," TJ said.

"Tell him he needs to shave," Young said, handing over the razor. "I cannot handle the beard."

"This is not going to be a thing," TJ said sternly.

"_What's_ not going to be a thing?" he asked.

"You know what I mean. I'm not your go-between," TJ said.

"Just—don't tell him that I told you to tell him. Problem solved."

TJ bit down on a smile. "Isn't he going to find out anyway?"

"Not if I never think about it again," Young said dryly.

"Seriously," TJ said, "colonel. We need to talk about this mental link."

"Later," Young said shortly. "I've got a lot on my plate at the moment."

TJ nodded. "Later," she said, turning the word into a warning rather than an agreement.

Young nodded and turned to go.

"Stay off that knee," TJ called after him as he exited the infirmary.

Reflecting that there was only a small chance that he would be able to heed her advice, Young headed back to the gate room to check on the progress of the team on the planet. Eli was perched on a stool, backlit by the open gate as he monitored the away mission. He sat chin in hand, looking like he was about to fall asleep—a good sign in Young's book.

"How's it going?" Young asked him.

Eli jerked into alertness, startled. "Fine," he said, blinking quickly. "Boring."

"Boring is good," Young told him.

Young unclipped his radio from his belt.

"Sergeant Greer, this is Young, do you read?"

"Loud and clear, sir."

"Sergeant, I need you back here, if Scott can spare you."

"Understood," Greer replied.

"We're doing fine, colonel," Scott added. "We could use another kino sled."

"I'll have Eli send one through once Greer gets back," Young replied.

"Thanks. Scott out."

Behind him, Eli entered the commands to disengage the gate so that Greer could dial back in. The wormhole snapped off almost immediately.

"Kino sled?" Young said in Eli's direction.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied. "I'm on it." He slid off the stool. "You gonna be here?" The last word was converted into a yawn.

Young nodded.

"Be right back," Eli said, vanishing through the door.

Young didn't have to wait long for Greer to come through the gate.

"Sergeant," Young said in greeting as he came through.

"Colonel," Greer answered.

"I need a favor," Young said quietly, keeping his pose casual to let Greer know that this 'favor' was outside the normal chain of command.

"Name it," Greer said, dropping the 'sir' but not the formality of his own stance.

Young glanced at the door to the gate room.

"I want to be clear. This is not an order. You are free to refuse."

"Got it," Greer said, relaxing his posture subtly.

Young looked at his watch. "In about an hour, I'm due to make a report to Homeworld Command. I need you to go in my place."

"That doesn't sound like a favor," Greer said quietly, his eyes flicking to the open door.

"The favor comes in when I ask you to lie about the contents of the report."

"What do you want me to tell them?"

It wasn't an overt acceptance, but Young could tell that Greer was leaning in that direction.

"They're going to want a report on the battle that happened a week ago. McKay may have informed them about the incident with Rush and the chair. I need you to downplay that as much as you can."

Greer stepped in and lowered his voice. "When they ask me why _you're_ not delivering the report in person—"

Young nodded. "Tell them I'm in the infirmary. Tell them I was seriously injured by an energy surge during the repair of the chair."

The doors slid open with a mechanical hiss and Eli walked into the room, dragging a kino sled behind him. "Secret conference?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Young said, "just a regular conference."

"Sure," Eli said skeptically. "A really quiet, really close together, _regular_ conference."

"Sergeant," Young said, motioning with his head for Greer to follow him out of the gate room.

"Bye guys," Eli called after them.

Young caught a hint of a smile in Greer's expression.

"He really keeps morale up around here, doesn't he?" Young asked.

"That he does, sir."

* * *

><p>Young and Greer spent the next hour going over Young's report before the sergeant reported to the communications room. Young walked him halfway there, stopping off at the infirmary along the way, just in case it was Telford who came through to take Greer's place.<p>

"Good luck," he wished Greer as they parted ways.

"Not gonna need it," Greer said.

"Haven't you learned anything, sergeant? Never say things like that."

Young watched the other man go, then acquiesced to TJ's insistence that she take a look at his knee, given that he was stuck in the infirmary anyway. She changed his bandages, remarking that the plasma burn was healing as well as could be expected, but that he still had a significant amount of soft tissue damage, which would take several weeks to fully resolve.

Fortunately, it was _not_ Telford who took Greer's place, but a junior scientist on Bill Lee's team. Young spent the next two hours monitoring the progress on the planet via radio, and trying to neither watch Rush sleep nor pay attention to his dreams, most of which were a mercifully obscure mixture of math and Ancient. He found that he was getting progressively better at functioning with Rush's consciousness churning in the background of his mind. Asleep, the other man had less capacity to derail Young's focus.

The situation was far from ideal, but it certainly could have been worse.

Greer reported back a few hours later without much new information, other than the fact that Telford had been visibly annoyed by Young's failure to show up for the briefing. Young spent the rest of the day monitoring the progress of the team on the moon. By early afternoon, everyone was back on board and the ship jumped to FTL with an expanded food supply.

The remainder of the day passed quietly. Around fifteen hundred hours he'd given the okay to start a preliminary exploration of the newly accessible parts of the ship. It was supposed to be a cataloguing mission, but Young was suspicious that it wasn't going to _stay_ a cataloguing mission. He hadn't yet been successful in beating the 'look-don't-touch' mantra into his people. Most of Destiny's crew was made up of civilian scientists, and Young supposed that he was lucky to get the amount of cooperation he did.

But, maybe that wasn't saying much, seeing as they had staged a mutiny about six weeks into the mission.

He blamed Rush for that.

Mostly.

Volker and Brody had uncovered some intriguing looking machinery in several previously locked rooms. So far, they hadn't found anything unambiguously useful other than several additional power generators that were running at only a fraction of their maximal capacity. According to Brody, there was some chance that the backup generators would be enough to amplify the power channeled to the gate and allow them to reach Earth.

Young wasn't holding his breath.

Rush woke up around nineteen hundred hours.

Young managed to do a pretty passable job of filtering out sensations and thoughts that occasionally leaked through their link. Unfortunately any time Rush got to his feet for more than a few seconds the tenuous unconscious filter he'd developed held up about as well as a leaf in a tornado. He had to spend half an hour working on holding a partial block in place so that he didn't hit the damn deck every time Rush decided it would be a good idea to try standing up.

Rush also made intermittent attempts to block _him_ out, but as far as Young could tell, the scientist was having a much more difficult time of it. Rush was expending a great deal more mental energy than Young, and his attempts at holding any kind of block were exhausting and ineffective.

Young wasn't sure what to make of that.

Rush was pretty pissed about it; that much was clear.

It wasn't until Young finally made it back to his quarters to get some rest around twenty-three hundred hours that he realized he hadn't actually checked in on Rush in person at any point during the day. Whether that was because he constantly was receiving a vague sense of the man's wellbeing, or because he subconsciously wanted to avoid the scientist, he wasn't sure.

Nor was he inclined to contemplate that distinction at length.

He sat down on the edge of his bed, shut his eyes, and concentrated on his link with Rush, trying to get a sense of what the other man was doing.

With an almost physical snap, he could suddenly feel the slight heat of a laptop against his hands. He could smell something like crushed grass that came from TJ's small pharmacy, and in front of him he could see lines of code as he attempted to model the frequency changes in Destiny's shield harmonics.

Rush stopped typing.

/?/

Young had startled him.

/Sorry./ He replied automatically to Rush's wave of confusion.

/Colonel _Young_?/ Rush's mental projection sounded exactly like his actual voice.

/Were you expecting someone else?/

The other man didn't reply verbally but sent back a wave of pure irritation.

"Hello?" Young noticed for the first time that Eli was sitting next to Rush. "Earth to Rush. I'm waiting for those numbers."

"Give me a minute."

/Can I _help_ you?/ Rush seethed at Young.

/I just wanted to make sure you were all right./

"You're not even typing," Eli complained.

/Then why don't you stop by? Like a normal person?/

/This is easier./

/It's also an invasion of privacy./

/Stop being so dramatic./

/Next time I'll drop in on you, and see how _you_ like it./ Irritation was rapidly transforming into anger.

"Hey man, seriously? You're kind of freaking me out here," Eli commented.

"Eli," Rush snapped, causing the young man to jump. "I said _give me a minute._"

/Get _out_./ There was a hysterical edge to Rush's anger, and underneath it, a glimpse of something deeper—something vast and full of despair.

Young got out, slamming a block into place between them. He immediately lost the mental picture of the infirmary and the sight of Eli's concerned expression.

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and stared at the floor of his quarters.

The entire exchange had left him with a bad feeling that centered on the concern that Rush _still_ didn't seem to have the capacity to block Young out, even under clear duress.

It didn't make sense.

Of the two of them, Rush seemed to have the more willful personality. If anything, Young would have predicted that Rush would be running roughshod all over him by this point.

It took him quite some time to fall asleep.

At four hundred hours his radio went off, dragging him up from the depths of a dream he didn't want to remember. He fumbled for the device in the semi-darkness, hands knocking objects to the floor, before his fingers finally closed around it.

"Young here."

"Colonel, it's TJ."

"Go ahead."

"We have a problem."

"Rush?"

"Yes. He's missing."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

* * *

><p>"Missing?" Young echoed TJ's pronouncement, already scanning the room for his jacket in the faint glow of blurred starlight. "How can he be <em>missing<em>? The man can't even walk."

"I know." She sounded unsettled. "I don't understand it. He was sleeping. I stepped out of the infirmary for a few hours to get some rest, since he's been stable since he came out of the chair. When I got back, he was gone."

"Give me a minute," Young said.

He tossed the radio onto his bedside table as he pulled on his uniform, contemplating his options.

There was an easy way find Rush—he could simply lower the block he was maintaining between the other man's mind and his own. He had done the same thing only a few hours ago, however and—

Well. It could have gone better.

"Lot of work," he muttered, as he shrugged into his jacket. "A _lot_ of work."

In the long term, they were going to have to figure out how to live with this.

In the short term, he was going to have to _find_ the guy before he did anything particularly ridiculous.

In the immediate moment, whether or not it was ethically defensible to drop his block to look for Rush was something that took a backseat to expediency.

He picked up his radio and clipped it to his belt.

He stood for a moment in the dim light and then dropped the barrier between their minds.

The sight of a room askew snapped into his consciousness. Reflective surfaces gleamed under yellow lights but the perspective would not resolve into something that made sense until he realized that Rush was lying on the floor. The scientist was flat on his back, his feet hooked over some kind of metal ledge that looked like a conveyer belt in a mechanized production line.

The end of the tape measure that had been hooked over the edge of Rush's boot abruptly retracted, recoiling into its metal housing with enough force to send a jolt of pain up Rush's forearm.

/Is your _own_ mind,/ Rush snarled, /_so_ uninteresting that you feel the need to periodically invade _mine_?/

/Rush,/ Young began, making an attempt to stand his ground in the face of unveiled hostility.

/For the love of god, _what do you want_?/

Young winced as Rush let loose the full force of his temper, the strength of the emotion literally rocking him back on his heels, pushing him away from the other man's mind.

He staggered in the darkness of his quarters, catching himself on the wall before he fell.

He regained his equilibrium and came right back at Rush.

/What are you _doing_?/ Young demanded.

/None of your business./

/See, there are so many things wrong with that statement, I'm not sure where to start./

/Fuck. Off./

The pressure of Rush's anger against his mind faded to nothing like atmosphere venting to space.

He had only that much warning.

/Rush, don't—/

The other man's consciousness detonated.

He didn't understand what Rush was trying to do, he didn't understand what it was that was happening—he only understood what he could _feel_—a sense of tearing, a sense of energy directed outwards—not _at_ him, but _away_ from him as the scientist's back arched, his eyes clenching shut, his fingers curling painfully around the metal edges of the tape measure as every muscle contracted to mirror his outward psychic projection.

Resistance was instinctive, compulsory, and painful.

Young felt himself fall to his knees. He felt the splitting sensation of popping stitches from very far away. He could not speak. He could not think. He could do nothing other than offer thoughtless opposition to a burst of energy that seemed like it would never end.

'_Force of will_,' the AI had said.

This could not continue.

But it did.

The darkness of his room, the yellow glow of the lights in an unexplored region of the ship blended together.

Rush was not breathing, _he_ was not breathing.

When his muscles were shaking, when his vision had faded to gray, when the leg of his pants was warm with the blood that seeped steadily from his knee—

Rush ran out of energy.

Young felt the scientist collapse back against the floor, his muscles giving out all at once. Distantly, he could hear the metal-on-metal click of the tape measure slipping out of Rush's hand.

Young took a deep breath and collapsed sideways. His knee shrieked in protest as he shifted his position to lie on the cold deck plating.

In the back of his mind, he could feel Rush gasping for breath on the floor of a distant room.

It was several minutes before Young had the energy to project anything at the other man.

/God _damn_ it, Rush./

The scientist didn't answer him.

/What the _hell_ were you trying to do? Kill us _both_?/

No response.

/Answer me, damn it./

In the back of his mind, he could see light glinting off the tape measure.

"No," Rush whispered aloud, a stream of incomprehensible images flickering across his mind too fast for Young to catch. "I wasn't—"

/Well you damn near succeeded in taking us _both_ out./

"You shouldn't have stopped me."

/It's a _ship_, Rush. You're a _person_. You belong here./

/With you./ There was an unmistakably bitter edge to the words.

/Look,/ Young snapped. /I'm sorry, but that's the way it is./

/Clearly./

They were silent for a few moments. Young tried to focus on the pain in his knee, on the movements required to get off the floor and assess his injury.

/So,/ Young said. /Let's try this again. What the _hell_ are you doing in some uncharted area of the ship in the middle of the night?/

/It's personal./

/You're in an unexplored and _unsecured_ area of Destiny doing god knows what. That definitely doesn't qualify as personal time./

/This is, essentially, a machine shop./

/And what are you _doing_ in the machine shop?/ Young asked, finding it significantly more difficult to maintain a civility that encompassed his entire consciousness.

/I'm making something./

/Are you really going to make me drag it out of you? _What_ are you making, Rush?/

/A solution to a problem./ Rush turned his head, trying to look away from someone who was in his mind. /After a fashion./

Young followed his gaze to a set of metal pieces laid out neatly on the floor next to the other man. They were constructed of a dull metallic alloy and looked sturdy. They were also clearly in the process of being fashioned into something resembling crutches.

Great.

He tried to focus on the pain in his knee, rather than the fact the he felt like an absolute ass.

/Okay,/ he finally replied. /Good. Although, TJ and Eli were already working on something to help you get around./

/I was not inclined to wait./

/Yeah, that's not really your style./

Rush turned onto his side and dragged a datapad within easy reach. /Now that you have satisfied yourself that I am engaged in neither sabotage nor subterfuge, might I suggest removing yourself from my mind?/

Young turned over onto his back, bringing both hands to his face.

He wondered if it was possible to strangle someone from a distance.

/How did you get here?/ Young asked. /There. Wherever you are./

/How do you think?/

/You couldn't have _walked_./ Even as he said it, he knew that that was _exactly_ what Rush must have done.

/Oh no?/ Rush replied grimly, and Young got a brief mental image of an agonizing progress through empty corridors, hands painfully gripping metal molding for support.

/God _damn_, Rush. You couldn't have waited? Someone would have helped you. _I_ would have helped you./

/Yes, well. It's irrelevant now./

Rush sat, pulling his datapad into his lap. He began to typing lines of code with an intense rapidity that Young was pretty certain was meant to be a defense against further conversation.

/Where are you?/ Young asked, interrupting the coding. /I'm coming down there./

Around Rush, the machinery in the room hummed to life.

/Don't bother. I'm nearly done./

/Do we really have to fight about every god damned detail of our daily lives? Where _are_ you?/ Young repeated pointedly.

/You're a much more persistent person than first impression would suggest,/ Rush snapped. With a flash of irritation, he sent Young a rough mental map of where he was.

Young pulled away from his mind almost immediately, focusing again on his dark and empty quarters.

He did not reinstitute the block.

"Colonel?" TJ's voice came through the radio, edged with uncertainty. "Colonel Young, please respond."

"Yeah, we're okay TJ. I know where he is. I'm going to get him now."

"Understood. Tell him I'm going to kick his ass."

"Will do."

Before leaving, he stopped to retie the gauze that was wrapped around his knee. He yanked it tight, hoping that it would be enough to stop the persistent ooze of blood that had made it all the way down soak the top of his sock.

As he limped through empty corridors he reflected that he needed to figure out a way to actually make it through the night without getting woken up by some emergency.

In a long, otherwise homogeneous hallway, a door opened ahead and to his left, spilling yellow light into the dim blue of the corridor. From inside the room in question, he could hear the quiet, intermittent buzz of the Ancient equivalent of a welder.

Young passed through the doorway, wondering if it had been Rush or Destiny that had opened it for him.

Rush wasn't on the floor anymore but was seated on a stool next to the machine belt, his feet propped up in front of him on the metal frame. He had piled the various metal pieces he had cut next to him on the conveyor, within easy reach.

He didn't look up when Young entered the room.

The electric razor had done wonders for his appearance—he looked much more like the scientist that Young remembered from the Icarus base. The wardrobe change was striking as well—he wasn't used to seeing the scientist in the black military uniform. The overall aesthetic, however, certainly didn't suggest the crispness that the Air Force prided itself on. Rush had, of course, left the jacket unfastened, and the entire thing was just slightly too large, so the other man had cuffed the sleeves once, exposing a set of wrist braces that prevented him from further injuring his forearms.

Young's impression was that Rush looked considerably less intimidating than usual.

Rush looked up, switching the welder off and glaring at him as he picked up on Young's thoughts.

"Oh come on," Young said. "Do yourself a favor and give it a rest. It's four in the morning."

Rush resumed welding.

"You need help?" Young asked.

"No."

"Of course you don't," Young said, coming up to stand beside him, "but your hands are killing me." He reached over and flipped off the power source for the welder.

Rush shut his eyes and Young could feel him try to contain a venomous surge of pique.

"So," Young said, trying to counter Rush's irritation with projected calm, "if you don't mind," he reached forward, carefully pulling the welder out of Rush's grip, "I'll finish this."

Incredible though he found it, he could feel Rush on the verge of arguing with him.

Young picked up the metal piece Rush had been working on and examined it, saying nothing.

The silence between them lengthened.

"Would you like one?" Rush asked.

"One what?"

Rush tipped his head towards the half finished crutches lying on the conveyer and then looked pointedly at Young's knee.

"I'm good," Young said with a wry half-smile as he braced the metal against the belt where Rush had propped his feet.

"Suit yourself. Were you aware that you're bleeding?" Rush's tone was full of disdain, but his thoughts were edged with something else.

"Yeah. I noticed. It'll stop."

"Not if you keep falling on it."

Young gave an amused snort as he flipped on the welder. "As apologies go, I've had better."

"I'm not apologizing."

"Yeah, but you want to," Young said.

"Not true." Rush watched him critically as he positioned the metal. "You know how to strike an arc?"

"I've done some welding in my day."

Rush shrugged. "Don't set yourself on fire."

"I'll do my best," Young said wryly.

Despite Rush's lack of confidence in his abilities, it didn't take long for him to get the feel of the Ancient device. Under the other man's direction he made relatively quick work of welding the pieces together. Rush's design was minimalist, consisting of two metal canes with a brace for both of his forearms to take some of the pressure off his injured wrists. When completed, the crutches very much fit his aesthetic.

Young finished testing the integrity of the welding job and then handed them over to Rush, who inspected them critically.

"Time to give it a go, I suppose," Rush said, after he was satisfied they weren't going to immediately fall apart.

"Be my guest," Young replied.

Rush reached over with one crutch and adroitly flipped off the power source for the welder.

"Oh god," Young said, rubbing his jaw.

Rush raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

"You're going to be a menace on those things, aren't you?"

"It's possible," Rush said, gingerly easing his weight onto his feet.

The pain was intense, boring into his mind with a horrible tearing sensation that turned his stomach.

"And you walked here _how_?" Young asked, incredulously.

Rush didn't reply. Instead he shifted some of his weight onto his wrists, and was rewarded with a shock from both forearms.

"I don't think this is workable," Young said.

"Of course it's workable." Rush took a few pained steps and bent to pick up a small notebook, stuffing it into his back pocket. "There's no alternative."

"What about—"

"No. No kino sleds. This is better."

"How is _this_ 'better'?"

"Block if you don't like it," Rush snapped, ignoring his question.

Young rolled his eyes and pulled back from the link as much as he could without _actually_ blocking the other man out of his mind.

They made their way slowly out of the room. Behind them, the lights shut off and the door closed automatically.

Young glanced over at Rush. "Are _you_ doing that?"

"Doing what?"

Young tipped his head back toward the door.

Rush paused and turned, frowning, as though he hadn't noticed the behavior of the ship until that moment.

"I don't know." Rush replied.

"How can you not know?" Young asked.

Rush shot him an irritated look. "I'm not doing it _consciously_."

They spent most of the walk back in silence. It took them a good fifteen minutes at the pace Rush was setting. After stopping twice, they finally drew within sight of the infirmary.

"TJ is exceptionally pissed at you, by the way," Young informed the other man.

"Unsurprising." Rush tried to manage a smirk, but it came out as more of a pained grimace.

TJ was waiting for them as they passed through the doors. She had her arms crossed over her chest, and her eyebrows were elevated in a manner that emanated disapproval. The infirmary lights backlit her hair, making her hard to look at without squinting.

"Yes yes," Rush said in response to her scrutiny. "I'm aware."

"Good," TJ replied. She pointed at one of the gurneys.

Rush tipped his head in acknowledgement.

Young followed the other man across the floor and leaned against a bed opposite the one Rush had chosen.

"Jacket," TJ said shortly. She pulled a blood pressure cuff off a shelf and tore the velcro apart as she waited for Rush to remove his outer jacket. After watching him for several seconds, she stepped forward and peeled his jacket off one shoulder, threading the cuff around his upper arm.

"Do you _mind_?" Rush asked.

"No talking," TJ said. "It interferes with the reading."

Young boosted himself carefully onto the gurney across from Rush, trying not to jar his knee as he watched TJ unlace Rush's boots, loosening them as much as possible before she began carefully easing them off.

Young clenched his jaw.

"How did you get these _on_?" TJ asked, her expression strained.

"In the conventional manner, I assure you," Rush said, through gritted teeth.

"New crutches aside," she said, "you really shouldn't be walking yet."

Rush gave her a noncommittal shrug, and she looked up at him sharply.

"If you can't handle that, I would be happy to sedate you."

Rush shook his head. "Empty threat," he commented, avoiding eye contact with her. "It would be a waste of resources."

/I'd watch it if I were you,/ Young shot at Rush, as he saw TJ's shoulders stiffen. /You're about ten words away from getting dropped like a rock./

Rush glanced at him.

Young raised his eyebrows.

"It depends," TJ said, her voice deceptively mild, "on what you consider to be a _waste_. Preserving your ability to walk seems worth it to me."

"I'd authorize it," Young added dryly.

/Traitor./ Rush narrowed his eyes. "I'll stay here for twenty-four hours," he said, "at which point I'll go back on shift."

"Forty-eight hours, plus you give me your word that you won't leave," TJ countered.

"Thirty hours."

"Thirty-six."

"With continuous access to a laptop."

"Done," TJ said.

Young shook his head. "Is this a usual thing for you guys?"

Rush narrowed his eyes and then looked at TJ. "I think Colonel Young reinjured his knee," he said mildly. "You might consider examining it."

/Now who's the traitor?/ Young snapped.

"Colonel?" TJ looked at him uncertainly.

It occurred to him then that he and Rush were glaring at one another.

"Yeah," Young said, switching his focus back to where it _belonged_. "Sorry."

"Let's take a look," TJ said quietly.

Young eased his pant leg up over his knee. The gauze that he had retied was nearly soaked through, but it looked like he had successfully stopped the bleeding. Dried blood was crusted down his leg.

"God," TJ said, pulling out a set of scissors from her suture kit rather than trying to unknot the bloody gauze. "What did you do, fall on it?"

"Yeah." Young winced as she tore the material away from his skin. "Kinda."

She looked at the wound critically.

As he had predicted, a good number of her careful stitches had ripped open when he'd landed on it.

"I'm going to have to redo this." She was already opening a bottle of Brody's double distilled ethanol. "This is going to sting." Without any more warning than that she was dousing the injury in alcohol. It took a second for the pain to register, but, once it did, it was all he could do to hold still.

Across from him, Rush flinched, making an abortive movement with both hands toward his own knee.

Young blocked the other man out of his mind.

"You okay?" TJ asked.

"I'm good," Young said, his voice hoarse.

"So," TJ said, pausing to open one of the suture kits in her dwindling supply. "We need to talk about what happened. With the chair." She glanced quickly at Rush before locking eyes with Young. "You've been avoiding me. You both have."

"I can't imagine what it is you want to discuss," Rush said. "I remember very little."

TJ paused for a moment, measuring out a length of sterile suture thread. "Sorry," she murmured, looking at Young. "You just need a few—otherwise it's not going to close."

"Go for it," he said, gritting his teeth and wishing for the days when they'd still had lidocaine.

He shut his eyes at the first pass of the needle through his skin.

"Your minds," TJ said, looking at Young briefly before she made another pass with the suture, "are _linked_."

"Nominally," Rush replied. "Though it doesn't make much of a difference given that it's able to be blocked."

"You can block it?" There was no mistaking the relief in TJ's voice.

"Yup," Young said from between clenched teeth after another pass from the needle.

"We're blocking it right now," Rush said truthfully. "And why wouldn't we? You think I want to feel that?" He tipped his head towards Young's knee, where TJ was tying off the short row of new stitches.

Young had to admire the man.

He really did.

Rush hadn't technically _lied_ to TJ, but his entire manner, down to the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his head gave the impression of someone entirely at ease. There was no indication anywhere in his demeanor that the mental connection he shared with Young was _so distressing_ to him that less than an hour ago he had panicked and expended so much mental energy that they had _both_ collapsed.

TJ was giving them a skeptical look. "So what happens the next time one of you is seriously injured?"

"I think we already have the answer to that," Rush commented, raising his eyebrows. "I spent most of yesterday unconscious, and Colonel Young suffered no ill effects."

TJ looked over at Young and he shrugged.

"And what about the other way around?" she asked, as she rewrapped the bandages around Young's knee. "This link is supposed to be about stabilizing _you_, right? So if something happens to the colonel—"

"Yeah," Young interjected before Rush could hijack the conversation any further. "That's—a little less clear."

"Not much can be done about it," Rush said.

"Hopefully we won't have to find out," TJ commented grimly, as she eased Young's pant leg down over her handiwork. "How about any other changes?" she asked Rush delicately after a momentary pause. "Do you feel any—different after the genetic modifications?"

Rush brought a hand up to the back of his neck, but the braces TJ had rigged up for him prevented him from bending his wrist to massage his shoulder.

"My night vision has gone to shite," he snapped, considering his mostly immobilized right hand in evident irritation. "Thanks for asking."

"Anything else?" TJ asked, clearly trying not to antagonize him further.

"No," Rush said, looking down, "but it's early."

"Yeah," TJ said quietly. "I know. Just—keep me in the loop."

Rush nodded without looking at her.

"All right," TJ said. "I think we could _all_ use some sleep." She eyed Young critically. "You look dead on your feet."

"Rough day," Young said quietly.

"Get out of here," TJ murmured with a faint smile. "Get some rest."

Young nodded once at Rush as he left.

The other man gave him a barely perceptible nod in return.

He had no idea if he should unblock their link or not, and he was too tired to analyze the situation. He'd give them both a break for the time being—at least until the morning.

He barely remembered stumbling back into his room.

He didn't even make it to the bed before passing out from sheer exhaustion on his couch, fully clothed.

* * *

><p>Some divine mercy allowed him to sleep uninterrupted until almost nine hundred hours, at which point his door chime woke him.<p>

Young got to his feet with some difficulty, his knee nearly giving out as he rounded the edge of his table. The sudden jolt of pain caught Rush's attention. Young could feel the intense pressure of the other man's full concentration before Rush shifted his focus back to his laptop.

"Great," Young muttered.

He managed to pull himself together somewhat before hitting the door controls.

Eli was standing in the corridor.

"Hey," the young man greeted him. "You don't look so good."

"Long night," Young said shortly. "Want to come in?"

Without waiting for a response, he turned and made his way back to his couch, sitting down with his feet stretched out in front of him on the low table. In the back of his mind he could feel that Rush was peripherally aware that Eli had just shown up in his quarters, but he seemed to be mostly thinking about using coupled nonlinear oscillators to modify Destiny's shield frequencies.

Young was a bit disturbed that he had that much insight into the problem.

He blocked Rush out of his mind.

He motioned vaguely for Eli to take a seat. "What's going on?"

"I'm supposed to report to McKay today," Eli said. "Using the stones? Anyway, I thought I'd check in before I go. See if there's anything in particular you wanted me to ask him."

"Right." Young rubbed his jaw, glad he had blocked Rush out. "We're going to need to find out everything we can about that communication device and whatever workaround they've designed to involuntarily swap people out, because when you get _back_," Young paused to make sure he had Eli's full attention, "your new assignment is going to be preventing Homeworld Command from gaining access to Destiny through illicit use of the stones."

Eli stared at him.

"You're kidding me, right? Because other than sounding _impossible_, that also sounds, oh, I don't know, kind of _mutinous_? But then again, I do have some experience with mutiny, so I guess I'm your guy."

Young gave Eli a pointed look.

"Anyway," Eli said. "I'll get what I can from McKay and then talk to Rush, see what—"

Young shook his head.

Eli looked at him.

"Let's leave Rush out of this one."

"Umm, _why_?"

"Rush doesn't know anything about this. The second he finds out that the SGC is capable of pulling him back to Earth, I'm pretty sure we both know what he's going to do."

Eli's eyes flicked away and back. "Destroy the terminal, you mean?"

"Cutting off our only means of communication with home."

"That might be—" Eli trailed off. "That might be the best solution."

"We're not doing that," Young said, "until we've explored all other options."

They were silent for a moment.

"He might not destroy it, you know," Eli said. "Plus, can't you like, _read his mind_ now? You should be able to stop him."

"You'd think," Young said dryly. "Unfortunately, my track record for preventing him from doing things that he shouldn't is pretty bad. I'm at least zero for two already, if not more, and it's been what—something like forty-eight hours?"

Eli sighed. "Even by messing around with the device _at all,_ I might render it inoperable."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take."

"Somehow? I knew you were going to say that."

"So—" Young said.

"Yeah. I'll give it a shot."

"Good," Young said quietly.

Eli stood, tucking his laptop under one arm. He had taken a few steps toward the door before he turned to fix Young with a penetrating look. "One more thing," he said. "Rush is linked to Destiny in a very fundamental sense. It's possible that there may be consequences for the ship itself if they try to pull him out."

"Such as?"

"Power failures would be most likely, based on all the additional power that came online when he first synced with the ship."

"Give me a worst case scenario," Young said.

"Um, we're at FTL and we have a complete power failure. There are safeguards in Destiny's power grid that should kill the FTL drive before we lose shield integrity so we _probably_ won't tear ourselves apart? But we'd be sitting ducks—no shields, no weapons, no life support. We'd be able to last half a day maybe. You get the idea."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take to keep communication lines open," Young said. "At least for now."

Eli nodded and crossed the floor. Before leaving, he paused again. This time, he did not look at Young. "Just so you know—all that worst-case scenario stuff? That assumes that Rush _survives_ their attempt to pull him back. So, um, keep that in mind."

The door hissed shut as Eli left.

Young bent forward, burying his face in his hands.

He couldn't bring himself to completely sever ties with the SGC.

The blow to morale would be enormous.

They would have no access to technical expertise, to doctors, to encouragement, to a whole team of people focused on bringing them home. And for what? To protect _Rush_, who had brought them here in the first place?

"Why him?" Young whispered to the empty room. "Why did you have to pick _him_? You could have chosen anyone."

After a few moments he forced himself to his feet. He spent the next hour putting himself in order. He showered, shaved, and changed the bandage on his knee before making his way toward the mess to see if Becker might be persuaded to give him his ration after the official mealtime had ended.

He was just starting to feel somewhat back to his usual baseline when the ship dropped out of FTL.

Lowering the block between his mind and Rush's seemed as natural as turning his head to look for the man.

/What's going on?/ he asked, feeling the click of keys under fingers that were not his own cease as Rush looked up.

/How should I know?/ Rush snapped at him. /I don't have a direct line to Destiny's CPU in my _head_./

Young rolled his eyes and pulled out his radio. "Young to bridge, what have we got?"

There was a short pause and then Volker's voice replied. "You're not going to believe this, colonel, but we've got another planet that doesn't match the age of its parent star. No stargate in sight."

/Any signs of technology?/ Rush prompted Young.

"Any signs of civilization?" Young asked. "Giant obelisks, that sort of thing?"

"That would be a _yes_," Volker responded.

"How much time on the clock?" Young asked.

/Almost eight hours,/ Rush sent.

The other man's sense of anticipation seeped into Young's mind.

His heart was beating faster than normal.

"Seven hours, fifty minutes," Volker replied.

/How did you know that?/ Young asked. /I thought you _didn't_ have a direct line to Destiny's CPU in your head./

Rush sent him mental wave of uneasy dismissal.

"Lieutenant Scott," Young said into the radio. "Assemble a team and be ready to go in ten minutes."

/_You_ should go./ Rush sent. Young could feel him tapping his fingers impatiently against the edge of his laptop.

/I'm not so sure that's a good idea./

/You should go because _I_ should go. But I can't./

/Are you going to be okay if I leave the ship?/

/We're not going to have a better opportunity to test this. We're not under attack—/

/Yet./

/Furthermore, the shuttle can _turn around_ if something unanticipated happens. With a stargate, it's a binary choice. We have to know if we can separate./

Young turned and started making his way toward the shuttle bay.

The man had a good point.

/Are you _sure_ about this?/

/Just don't block me out. You'll know if anything happens./

/Why do I feel like I'm going to regret this?/

/I can't imagine./ This time it was Rush who rolled his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

* * *

><p>Young stepped out of the shuttle onto an alien world.<p>

He was immediately hit by a wall of heat and light.

Although the sun was only about twenty-five degrees above the horizon, it was still oppressive, and tinted the landscape with a pale red glare. His borrowed sunglasses provided some protection, but he wished that he'd been able to find desert fatigues on short notice. The black material of his uniform was already heating up.

Young's eyes swept the desolate landscape as he absently rubbed each of his wrists in turn, trying to soothe away the ache that had taken up residence there. To the south and west, the land rushed away in a vast rocky plain as far as the eye could see.

The wind had already coated his fatigues with a layer of fine red dust.

/There must be extremely high levels of iron oxide in the soil here./ He could feel Rush's attention caught by the color of the landscape. /I wonder if that's natural, or a byproduct of whatever technology was used to create the obelisk./

/And that's significant, how?/ Young sent back, looking uneasily at the spire that towered above them, a dark outline against the sun.

/I find it—interesting./

The lack of irritation in the other man's reply was disconcerting.

/Are you okay?/

/Yes yes./

There was no question about it. Rush was splitting his attention.

The other man was half-reclined on one of the infirmary gurneys. His laptop was open next to him, but he wasn't looking at it.

/Aren't you supposed to be helping Brody monitor the long range sensors?/ Young snapped. /We're probably still being pursued./

/No gate,/ Rush replied, as if that was an appropriate response.

"There's something not right here," Greer murmured as they formed up outside the shuttle doors. "I have a bad feeling."

"Ruins are always like that," Young said brusquely, lifting his pack. "Let's get going. Evans, take point. We're on the clock here, people."

They turned north, Young's eyes following the spire of the giant obelisk where it jutted up unnaturally from the landscape. The loose red soil flew up in silent, delicate clouds beneath their boots as they began to jog. His knee burned with each step.

/Rush, what the _hell_ are you _doing_?/ Young snapped, once he had settled into the painful rhythm of a double-timed march. /You're not _paying_ _attention_./

Young hated the idea of taking any part of his focus off his own surroundings, especially in an alien environment such as this one. But he didn't trust Rush up there, on his own, doing god knows what.

He pulled the infirmary into focus without much effort.

/What?/ Rush snapped at him, his mental projection sharpening considerably.

/Monitor the long range sensors,/ Young snapped back. /And pay attention, damn it./

/I'm so glad that now you can give me orders _in my head_./

Rush pressed a few keys to switch displays on his laptop.

"Nick."

A woman's voice came from Rush's left, and, in the scientist's peripheral vision, Young caught a flash of blonde hair and a silhouette that was not TJs.

"One moment," the other man murmured, his attention now split three ways.

Rush's focus narrowed down onto the sensors as Young tried to direct his attention toward the woman instead.

As they engaged in yet another instinctive, mental struggle, something happened.

An onslaught of unfamiliar images exploded across Rush's consciousness and bled into his own. The stream of images flared, brief and bright and powerful, an assault of Ancient text and images—of cityscapes and oceanscapes that were nothing that had ever been seen on Earth.

The alien images faded into a sense of strain, pulling Rush's mind somewhere Young couldn't follow.

Somewhere dark.

Young automatically pulled _back_.

He felt a bolt of pain shoot through his skull as his sense of Rush began to fade.

Young stumbled.

"Sir?"

He tore down every barrier he could find between his mind and Rush's, and, with an enormous effort, he was able to pull the other man back from wherever he had gone.

/What the hell was _that_?/ he shot at Rush. /Are you all right?/

/Fine./ The scientist sounded dazed.

The distant ache in Young's hands and feet had faded to nothing. Rush's thoughts were a smear of unfocused lassitude, bordered with euphoric halation.

/Hey,/ Young snarled. /Snap out of it. The ship is _doing something to you_./

"_Sir_." He realized Greer had a hand closed around his elbow. "You okay?"

"I'm good, sergeant," Young said shortly. "My knee's acting up."

/Rush, come on. What just happened?/

/The ship was—communicating with me./

"You sure? We can take it slower." Greer still hadn't let go of his arm.

/?/ Young sent Rush a nonverbal request for clarification.

"Yeah," Young said, clapping Greer on the shoulder. "I'm fine, sergeant."

/You didn't get any of that?/ Rush asked, his tone still disturbingly vague.

/Any of _what_? Are you sure you're okay? You sound—not yourself./

Rush sent him a vague sense of something that _maybe_ was supposed to be reassurance.

Young did not find himself in anyway reassured.

He resumed the quick step of the double-time march. They had nearly reached the base of the obelisk.

/Tell the ship to_ leave you alone_./ Young snapped at Rush.

/We're fine./ Rush sounded completely unconcerned.

/Who is this 'we,' you're talking about? And you're clearly _not_ fine./

Rush didn't answer.

Young grimaced, sweeping his gaze over the obelisk that towered above them, perched on the edge of a cliff. On their shuttle ride in, they had noted a collection of abandoned buildings scattered far below the lone monument. They had set down only half a klick away from the structure, which they could now tell was made of a metal alloy with a dull red finish. It matched the hue of the landscape almost perfectly, and he could see designs, possibly even _writing_, that extended all the way up to the apex.

It seemed like the kind of thing that would give them significant metaphorical bang for their metaphorical buck, but he did not like the sound of Rush's mental projection.

/Rush. Talk to me. I'm serious. Something is wrong with you. I'm about to call off this mission./

/Stop overreacting./ Rush's projection sharpened somewhat at Young's pronouncement. /I was monitoring the sensor array, and received—a suggestion regarding how to do so without a computer./

/Destiny _talks_ to you?/

At Young's words Rush's consciousness split into multiple nonlinear streams of thought. It was something that Young had noticed several times over the previous days. This time, however—

Young had felt a subtle jolt of _intent_ as Rush's memories fractured.

Rush was shattering his own thoughts.

He was doing it _purposefully_, to keep information from Young by obfuscating what he was recalling.

Good god. He wasn't sure whether he felt horrified or impressed.

Rush, however, was far from the top of his game at the moment, so Young was able to pull out several meaningful images from the ensuing burst of chaotic, branching thoughts.

Gloria.

Dr. Franklin.

The bridge of Destiny.

Dr. Jackson.

Gloria again and again and again—the moment he cracked the code, on the bridge, in the control interface room, in the mess, in his quarters, in the infirmary—Gloria.

Gloria.

Young had never known her name.

He knew it now.

Destiny had been talking to Rush for a long time.

/It's gone beyond talking, at this point,/ Rush said, capitulating to Young's insight with unguarded, unfocused agreement.

And finally, Young felt that he was beginning to understand.

Rush hadn't been pulled away because he was _talking_ to Destiny, the way Young himself had confronted the ship in the form of his ex-wife a few days ago. They had been separated because, for a moment, Rush had _become_ Destiny.

And now, Young was having trouble fully reestablishing his link with the other man.

/Do _not_,/ Young sent forcefully, /do that again./

/Which part?/ Rush asked, his tone still vague, but carrying a note of satisfaction.

/Stay out of the ship,/ Young said.

/Relax,/ Rush said into his mind. /You can reestablish your mental chokehold when you're done down there./

/Don't be so dramatic./

/Go fuck yourself,/ Rush replied distantly.

"That's great," Young muttered under his breath, looking up at the obelisk. "That's just great."

/Are you going to be okay like this for—/ Young checked his watch. /Six hours, presuming we don't get attacked?/

/Absolutely./

/I don't know if I can pull you out again from down here./

/I never asked you to do any such thing./

Young grimaced as he felt Rush return to monitoring the long-range sensors.

Without a computer.

Thankfully there was no repeat of the alarming fade-out of Rush's mind that had happened earlier. Nevertheless, his sense of the other man dimmed significantly.

Young slowed his pace as they finally reached the base of the giant metal structure.

His team followed his lead.

They stood at its base for a moment, studying the spire.

"Fan out," he ordered, "and look sharp. Evans, James, get as much kino footage as you can of those inscriptions."

He wished that Eli were here, and not back on Earth, reporting to McKay.

"Greer and Thomas, you're with me. Let's take a look around." Young glanced back over his shoulder at Evans, who was pulling a kino out of her pack. "Whatever you do, don't touch that thing."

Evans nodded as James fired off a crisp, "yes sir."

"It's too quiet," Greer murmured next to him.

"I noticed," Young said. "No animals. Hardly any plant life."

"What the hell happened here?" Greer asked.

"Nothing good," Young replied, his eyes roving restlessly over the horizon line.

They formed up and made their way over to the edge of the cliff, their footsteps muffled by the thick layer of red dust that coated the entire landscape. Once they had reached the edge, they were able to overlook the ruins of what had once been a small community. A handful of buildings, sloppily constructed from a dull gray metallic material, were clustered forlornly out away from the base of the cliff.

There was something familiar about them, but Young couldn't quite place what it was.

The structures were clearly abandoned, and had been for some time.

"Looks more like a base camp than a settlement," Greer observed, "constructed out of some kind of ship, maybe, that crashed into this cliff?" He glanced over at Young.

"It would had to have been a pretty substantial ship," Young said. "There's a lot of metal down there." The buildings were small and low to the ground with hardly any space between them.

"Thomas, can you send a kino down this rock face?" Young asked.

The young man nodded shortly and unpacked one of the spheres and its corresponding remote from his pack. He sent it down over the cliff edge.

/Any thoughts, genius?/ Young snapped in Rush's direction as he stared out over the dilapidated spread of metal structures far beneath them.

Rush was slow to respond, and Young could feel him tense as he made an effort to separate himself from the ship enough to answer verbally.

/They look familiar,/ Rush said slowly, hardly any of his attention directed Young's way.

/Great. Thanks for that./

Young and Greer looked over Thomas's shoulder as he directed the kino down the side of the cliff.

As they watched, the little machine soared over the red rock face until it reached a massive object made of dark, matte metal, mostly buried in the rock face.

"Well shit," Greer said, as Thomas moved the kino out away from the rock face to get a better view. "That could definitely be a ship. But—" he trailed off as they studied the image displayed on the kino remote.

Young shivered slightly in the heat.

"The question is," Young finished for him, "how did a ship that massive drive itself so far into a solid wall of rock?"

/Rush,/ he snapped. /Come on. You were the one who wanted to come down here so much. Pay attention for thirty seconds. I need your take on this./

With a slight muscular tremor, Rush separated from Destiny. Young augmented his efforts, pulling on the other man's mind as much as possible. Finally, after several seconds, Young could sense Rush looking critically at the kino footage with more than ten percent of his attention.

/This is disturbing,/ Rush said absently, as his mind flowed over the problem like water, entertaining ideas and then discarding them just as quickly. /Greer is right. That's certainly a ship. But it didn't crash here. Not exactly./

/What about all the wreckage that formed those stuctures?/ Young asked.

/Removed later,/ Rush said shortly. /From the inside, not the hull. Direct the camera toward the base of the cliff./

"Thomas," Young said, holding out his hand to take the remote. The young man handed it over, and Young did as Rush suggested, sending the kino down toward the abandoned settlement and the detritus that surrounded it. As he inspected the piles of material, a loose sense of organization seemed to emerge. Sheets of metal were grouped together, as were what looked like a slightly foreign equivalent of electronic circuitry.

/They were sorting it,/ Young commented to Rush.

/Yes,/ Rush replied absently, his entire attention now focused on the footage.

Young panned slowly to the right across the different piles, identifying beamwork and semi-transparent surfaces that looked something like glass.

In the back of his mind, he could feel Rush's hands clench painfully on the sheets beneath him.

/What's wrong?/

/Keep panning,/ Rush said tightly.

Young didn't question him.

Only a few seconds went by before Rush said, /there. Stop./

Young examined the pile of material, consisting almost entirely of what looked to be solar cells of some kind.

As he looked at it, he felt a flood of wordless alarm from Rush, coupled with a surge of tailored information.

iThe metal alloy of the beamwork, the appearance of the viewscreens, the design of the circuitry had all combined to give the scientist the suspicion that they were looking at a ship of Ancient design. But now, Rush had positively identified part of the ship's FTL drive.

There was no question.

The ship was Ancient in origin.

/A seed ship?/ Young asked.

/The seed ships weren't manned. Or they weren't _supposed_ to be./

/So someone _else_ took it apart?/

/Possibly, but whoever dismantled the thing knew what they were about. They were unquestionably familiar with the technology./

Young's feeling of unease intensified, but he still didn't understand what had Rush so worked up.

/Something else is bothering you./

/As _usual_,/ Rush shot at him, anxiety coloring his mental projection, /you fail to identify the most critical question. The state of the wreckage below indicates that the ship did not _crash_ into that cliff. The material displacement of such a massive vessel would have shattered the structural integrity of the rock face. Even if you didn't conceptualize it in such manner, you know it to be the case. It's what made you uneasy as soon as you saw it./

Young grimaced.

/In addition, the viewscreens you can see at the base of the cliff aren't so much as _cracked_. Everything is in perfect condition. I'm sure you also failed to notice that there are no components of the ship's power supply or shields in amongst that material./

/Can you calm down, please?/ Young could feel his own heart racing in response to Rush's spiraling anxiety.

/"Don't tell me to fucking 'calm down'."/ Now Rush was actually speaking out loud as well as projecting. /"The ship is embedded so far into that cliff that we weren't even able to identify its _design_ until examining the removed material. There's only one way that I know of for it to get there, colonel."/ Rush gave his title an instinctively venomous twist.

/And what is that?/ Young asked with as much patience as he could muster.

/"A _phase_ based technology."/

/?/

Rush looked up as TJ poked her head around the open doorway in the otherwise empty infirmary. They regarded each other silently for a moment until Rush looked away.

/I have _no_ sympathy,/ Young shot at him. /Just calm the hell down./

"Hi," TJ said uncertainly.

"Hello," Rush replied, reaching up to rub the space between his eyebrows with his index and middle fingers.

"You okay?"

"Yes yes. Sorry."

"Talking to the colonel?"

"Yes," he looked away from her. "Ideally, it wouldn't have been out loud."

"Well," she said quietly. "It'll come with practice."

"Stop being so nice," Rush said, without any of his usual snap. "It's irritating."

TJ rolled her eyes, but Young could tell she was fighting a smile as she ducked back around the doorframe.

/Phase technology?/ Young asked, glad that TJ had stepped in and prevented Rush from losing his shit entirely.

Young's own track record in that department left quite a bit to be desired.

/p=h-bar(k) and E=h-bar(w), correct? So if one shifts the matter wave to be exactly ninety degrees out of phase with its surroundings, then they no longer interact and can occupy the same space at the same time./ With this, Rush sent him several graphs of what looked like sinusoidal waves shifting in position relative to each other.

/H-bar?/ Young asked him incredulously.

/Look, if I can pick up on Tamara's body language, a _completely useless skill_ by the way, is it too much to hope that you can pick up some physics? H-bar is the notation for Dirac's constant./

/Stop wasting time,/ Young snapped at him.

/Yes, you're right. Explaining this to _you_ is _certainly_ a waste of time./

/So what are we talking about? Invisible enemies? Like what happened at Stargate Command with the Reetou something like five years back? How does that relate to the ship in the cliff?/

/It's almost certainly _how_ the ship got there in the first place. Something either sent it out of phase and pulled it back into phase once it was inside the cliff or, more likely, the cliff, maybe even the entire _planet_ briefly went out of phase relative to the ship. The ship flew through it, or was pulled in, and then was trapped when the planet went back in phase./

/So we're potentially on a phase shifting planet?/

/Yes, and we should get out of here as soon as possible. Get James and Evans to take the shuttle and pick up those FTL parts while the three of you check the interior of the ship./

/Last time I checked, _I_ was in command around here. Not you./

/Now who's wasting time?/

/The obelisk is a priority./

/Yes well, it's also probably part of whatever technology it is that makes phase shifting possible. You had better hope to _god_ that you haven't already triggered it./

"James," Young spoke quietly into his radio, "Evans. Pack it up and head over to our position."

"Understood," came James's crisp reply.

"What are you thinking, sir?" Greer asked.

Young didn't reply for a moment, his eyes scanning the surface of the cliff.

"In a minute, sergeant."

Young set down his pack, trying to estimate how much rope they had between them. The upper portion of the exposed ship was maybe fifty to seventy-five feet below their position at the cliff top, and the best entry point was maybe twenty-five feet below that.

It was a long way down a very sheer cliff face.

When James and Evans had reached their position, Young motioned for them to gather around the viewer.

"Okay people," he said, "we're positioned on top of wreckage from a crashed vessel."

/Inaccurate,/ Rush snapped from the back of his mind.

/Says the guy who lied about finding another Icarus planet./

"It is most likely the wreckage of one of the Ancient seed ships." He paused, watching James' eyes widen.

From slightly behind his left shoulder, Greer gave a low whistle.

"How do you know?" Evans asked.

Young zoomed on the metal below. "That's part of an FTL drive. This is our number one priority. We need those parts. James, Evans, Thomas, you're going back to the shuttle to salvage as much of the drive equipment as you can. Take anything else that looks useful, we'll sort it out later. Stay alert for anyone active down there. By all looks of things, they're long gone, but you never know."

They nodded at him.

"Greer and I are going to be rappelling down the cliff. I want to get a look at the interior of the ship."

"How did it get stuck there?" James asked with a note of unease in her voice.

"That's a question for Rush and Eli to answer later." Young replied. "Let's go, people."

The other three moved out, their footsteps muffled by the omnipresent dust.

"Got much climbing experience, sir?" Greer asked, uncertainly.

"Tons," Young said dryly. "Yourself?"

"Oh you know," Greer gave a half shrug. "Here and there."

"Great." Young started digging through his pack.

/You're going to have Greer belay you from the top?/ Rush commented, still succeeding at holding his mind separate from the ship. /Good luck with that./

/Thanks,/ Young said, rolling his eyes, /but we don't have a lot of options, as time is an issue. Unless you have a better idea?/

/This isn't really my area, though certain principles of mechanics do apply. Maximize the surface area over which force is distributed./

/Wear a harness?/

/And use two lines, if you can, one that's anchored somewhere and one that Greer is belaying with. See? You _are_ picking up some of my skill sets./

/That's not a skill set. It's common sense, which is not an attribute I usually associate with _you_./

Rush shot him a wave of irritation.

"You have a knife with you?" Young asked Greer. "We should at least make harnesses."

Greer passed his knife over, and Young started sawing through strips of line. It took about ten minutes to assemble two relatively rudimentary harnesses out of the line and carabineers they were carrying with them.

"Mind if I keep this?" Young asked Greer, holding up the knife. "Might come in handy down there."

"Be my guest." Greer tossed him the sheath, and Young clipped it to his belt.

A few minutes later, Young was standing with his back to the edge facing Greer, who had dug a shallow trench down into the soft dirt to brace his heels in. They had anchored one of the lines to a rocky projection twelve feet from the cliff's edge. Greer's harness was clipped to the anchor, and he was holding the other line. Both lines were attached to Young's harness.

"Ready?" Young asked Greer.

"As I'm going to be."

Young looked over his shoulder down at the base of the cliff. He could see the shuttle had landed and the other three members of the away team were loading it up.

It was a long way down.

/Pull your sleeves over your hands./ Rush's heart was beating as fast as Young's was. He was digging his hands into the gurney sheets again.

Young pulled on his jacket sleeves until he was able to cover the palms of his hands. It wouldn't work as well as gloves would have, but it would provide some protection. Greer copied his motion.

/Don't distract me./ Young ordered Rush.

/As though I need to be told./

Young looked at Greer. The other man nodded to him.

He took a deep breath and stepped over the edge.

Young inched down, proceeding carefully, slowly playing out the line between his hands. He could feel slight shifts in pressure as Greer did the same. He tried to focus on the red rock immediately below his feet and not on the dizzying drop below him.

He realized that his concentration on the rock face was extraordinarily intense.

It occurred to him that this was certainly due to Rush's influence.

Maybe it was the other man's scientific training, or maybe it was simply the combined power of both their attentions, but Young had never experienced this level of focus. The sensitivity of his sensations was doubled and, though he had been climbing for almost five minutes, he had yet to feel any fatigue. His knee wasn't even bothering him.

Then, he felt his attention shatter as something distracted Rush.

Destiny shuddered.

The infirmary lights flickered, and the hum of the engines increased in pitch.

With a sudden shock of alarm, Rush pulled away from Young's mind entirely.

Young slipped as a bolt of pain sliced through his temples. He slid three or four feet before Greer caught him on the belay line.

/Rush?/

No answer.

"Damn it." Young was suddenly aware of the terrible burn of fatigue in his shoulders and arms.

The rock beneath him shuddered slightly.

His radio crackled.

"Something's happening." James's voice came over the radio. "Don't think you can see this, colonel, but the base of the obelisk just lit up."

"Shit." He looked up to see a violent-looking swirl of clouds condensing rapidly in the upper atmosphere over their position. Lightning flared in bursts and fans. "_Shit_."

He stepped down, increasing his pace, but he slipped again as his boot encountered a particularly smooth patch of rock. Greer caught him on the belay line once more.

Without warning, a towering column of white light shot out the top of the obelisk. It stayed cohesive all the way through the atmosphere, like a laser with a monstrous diameter. It was absolutely noiseless.

Like being hit with a wave while standing in the surf, Rush was back with him.

/Cut the belay line and tell Greer to run./

/Why?/ Young was already tightening his grip on the anchor line with his left hand and pulling out his knife.

/_Do it_./

The tension in the line made it easy to slice through. Young sheathed his knife and grabbed his radio. Above him, he saw Greer looking down.

"Run," Young snapped.

"I'm not leaving you here, sir."

"You move your ass! Get away from that thing. That's an _order_, sergeant!"

/Go,/ Rush said.

Young went.

Rush grabbed his crutches and vaulted off his gurney. Their combined adrenaline was enough to for them both to brush aside the flare of pain as the scientist's feet hit the floor.

Young slid down another five feet. Another ten. The friction of the rope heated up the sleeves of his jacket.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Young heard TJ in the back of his mind as Rush cleared the infirmary doors. They shut and locked behind him.

The ground beneath Young trembled again and, with a sickening sensation deep in his chest, Young felt the tension on the line go slack.

He was falling.

From far away, he heard a woman's scream.

The rope, still attached to his harness, trailed above him like a long ribbon.

Everything he was getting from Destiny suddenly went dark as Rush tore into his mind, bringing them closer than they had ever been since the first time the scientist had tried it.

This time, Young let him in.

Rush twisted them in the air and slammed Young's hands into the cliff face. His fingers tore at the rocks, pulling at ledges, catching on small plants. Feet, knees, chest, they all pressed in, slowing his descent. One hand finally gripped a tiny ledge. Then the other.

The rope sailed down past him, swinging wildly from the back of his harness.

He looked for purchase against the rock with his feet, finding one foothold, then another. His breath was ragged in his throat.

They were together. So close they didn't have to talk. Young knew without asking that above him, the ground had shifted out of phase. Knew that that phase shift was what had severed the line. Knew that the affected field was going to advance until it had covered the planet.

Where Rush had come up with that information was immaterial at the present.

The radio crackled, loud in the quiet air.

"Hang on, sir, we're coming for you right now."

It was James. Young felt a surge of relief that was almost immediately killed by Rush. From their current position, it would be a physical impossibility to get into the shuttle. They would have to climb down the last fifteen feet to stand on the upper edge of the trapped ship.

Rush looked out to their left and, seeing a promising looking hand-hold, shifted his weight to the right, and then lunged for it, a move substantially more risky than Young had been prepared for. For one heart stopping moment they were in free space, and then they were slamming back into the rock, wedging their left hand into a crevice. Right hand joined left, and again feet found purchase.

They looked up and saw a line of distortion moving slowly down the face of the cliff.

This time the right hand was first, then left leg, and without much trouble they had descended two feet, then an easy four more. They kept going, knowing it would be hard to keep ahead of the wave. Behind them, they could hear the hum of the shuttle engines getting louder.

Six feet above the exposed hull of the ship, the rock face was exceptionally smooth, as though the surface had liquefied where the ship had entered. With no alternative, they dropped straight down.

The shock of hitting the metal plating was too much for Young's knees and they buckled, pain shooting from his injury up to his spine. Shakily, they pulled hands underneath them, then feet. Absently, Young noticed that blood was oozing out from beneath all of his fingernails. Rush pulled their gaze up.

The shuttle hovered in front of them.

"Sir!" James yelled to be heard over the dull roar of the shuttle's engines, her eyes wide, her face pale. "Sir, _now_!"

They looked back to see the edge of the visual distortion caused by the phase shift advancing rapidly toward their position. Young gathered his strength for one final push, and together they surged forward, taking two strides to the edge of projecting metal before launching into free space.

They crashed into James, landing in a tangle of limbs. Thomas dragged them both back from the opening in the rear of the shuttle as Evans accelerated away from the cliff face.

Rush pulled back again, leaving Young with a momentary feeling of disorientation, like standing firm while watching the tide recede.

On Destiny, Young felt Rush open his eyes and pull himself off the floor where he had apparently fallen during the time he had been helping Young hang on to the cliff. He was alone, in a corridor near the FTL drive.

"Greer?" Young yelled to the rest of his team.

"Heading his way now, sir," Evans yelled back.

James had already unclipped the long length of rope that was still attached to Young's harness. Pushing herself to her feet she hooked the carabineer onto the doorframe of the shuttle and started winding the rest of the rope around her arm.

"I've got a visual on him," Evans yelled back. "It's going to be close." Young stepped up behind her shoulder to see Greer running flat out, maybe fifty feet ahead of the advancing wave.

"Ready?" Evans yelled back to James.

"Ready," she confirmed, finishing a knot that put a loop in the end of the rope. She started lowering it out of the open back of the shuttle.

Evans slowed to match Greer's speed, staying slightly ahead of him.

James gripped the doorframe and looked out of the back of the shuttle. "Slow down!" she yelled to Evans. "He's almost got it."

Young grabbed the slack of the line that was piled on the floor behind James, motioning for Thomas to do the same.

"Now," James shouted as the line went tight.

Young and Thomas started hauling the other man up as Evans slowly gained altitude. Young saw James suddenly drop to her knees, one arm anchored around a cargo strap, the other reaching out.

Greer's hand came into view, closing solidly around James' arm, their grips hand-to-elbow. In the next instant, he shot over the edge.

Young activated the controls for the shuttle bay doors and they closed, blocking out the sight of the phase wave altering the ground below.

Greer looked up at him from the floor of shuttle, breathing hard. "How the _hell_ did you know that was coming, sir?"

"Tell you later," Young said quietly, and Greer shot him a look of sudden comprehension. "Strap in."

Young took the copilot's chair next to Evans as the atmosphere gave way to stars. He flipped on the communications system.

"Destiny, this is Young. We're on our way back. What's your status?"

"Not so good, colonel," Scott responded. "Destiny's caught in some kind of tractor beam or—electromagnetic field, I guess. It's pulling us toward the planet. We've got engines running at full power, but we're still losing ground. Eli just got back, he tells me we're in a decaying orbit?"

/What's going on?/ Young asked Rush.

/That beam of light generated by the obelisk is a visual side effect of the creation of a massive electrical field gradient, which is, unfortunately, attracting the ship./ Rush rounded a corner and entered a room full of monitors that Young was sure he had never seen before. /I am attempting to do something about that./

Young was able to pick up a very vague sense of Rush's plan, which seemed to involve the FTL drive.

/Tell Eli what you're doing./ Young ordered.

/Certainly,/ Rush said.

Young frowned.

"Rush to Eli," Rush said into the radio, his voice overly polite.

"_Rush_. We've been trying to reach you for the past _five minutes_. Where _are_ you?" Eli sounded harassed.

"I'm about to enter the FTL drive."

"What? Why? What do you mean '_enter_' it?"

"Don't override _anything_. Rush out."

/Very informative,/ Young shot at him in irritation.

Rush dropped his crutches and knelt down with significant difficulty, placing his hands over a panel beneath one of the monitors.

Young could feel that he wanted to pry it open, but he didn't have any tools with him.

Rush made a mental _request_ of the panel. A hidden catch released, and the metal fell forward into his hands.

/What was _that_?/ Young asked.

Rush ignored him, lowering the metal to the floor. A blue-white light spilled into the dimly lit room. Rush crawled through the opening he had created into the narrow, bright space. He started to drag himself forward along what was, apparently, an access tunnel.

The space was too confined for him even to crawl.

Young wouldn't characterize himself as claustrophobic, but he felt sick looking at it.

/You're going to need to boost your power to make it back to Destiny in time,/ Rush directed at him.

"Is there any way we can boost our speed?" Young asked Evans.

/Like she's going to know./

"I've already rerouted power from secondary systems," Evans said, "but I could start pulling from primary, meaning weapons, shields, life support."

/Life support?/ Young shot at Rush.

/Do it,/ Rush snapped.

"Give us everything you can," Young said. "Pull it from _everywhere_." After a few seconds he could feel the change in their velocity push him back against his seat.

/Ask Eli or Chloe if you can make back before the orbit decays past the point of no return. I've got too much going on to figure it out for you./

"Scott, put Eli on," Young said over the communication systems.

"Hey," Eli said somewhat breathlessly. "Do you know what Rush is doing, because—"

"Eli," Young said interrupting. "I need you or Chloe to tell me if, at our current shuttle speed, we're going to make it back to Destiny before her orbit decays to the point that we can't escape the planet's gravity."

"Umm, okay," Eli said, drawing the words out dubiously.

"What the hell is happening?" he heard James whisper to Greer in the aft compartment.

"You'll make it back," Chloe's voice crackled over the radio. "Ninety seconds to spare."

/Perfect,/ Rush commented.

/I don't think you know what 'perfect' means. That's not a wide window./

/Maybe not for _you_,/ Rush replied.

Destiny was looming ever larger in their forward view. In the back of his mind, Young could feel Rush dragging himself farther into the heart of the FTL drive. The crawlspace had progressively narrowed, and, when Rush finally got into position, he had a hard time turning over onto his back in the confined space.

Young felt almost sick with anxiety.

/Rush. What are you _doing_?/

/I'm using the FTL drive to generate an opposing gradient to offset the pull of the obelisk./

/You think you can pull that off?/

/Did I distract you when you were climbing down a _fucking cliff_?/ Rush snapped. /No. I did not. So just—/ Rush's voice broke off for a moment as he removed the panel directly above his face. /Just leave me _alone_, please, and come get me when this is done./

/Come _get_ you?/ Young echoed.

There was no response. Rush was nearly gone from his mind. He was with Destiny.

"Shit," Young murmured under his breath. "How long until we dock?" he snapped at Evans.

"Three minutes, twenty-five seconds."

"That _thing_ is trying to pull Destiny into the planet?" Thomas asked quietly from behind.

"Looks that way," Greer answered, equally quietly.

"Why aren't _we_ affected?" James asked.

"We are," Evans said. "The engine's requiring significantly more power than usual for the speed we're clocking."

They were forty five seconds from docking when Eli's voice came over the shuttle's communications system.

"FTL drive is powering up," he said, "and we can't raise Rush. This is _not good_. If we jump while we're in this tractor beam, it's going to tear the ship apart."

"Don't override," Young replied.

"Yeah, that's the word on the street," Eli said in irritation.

As they approached Destiny, they could see the blue light of the drive come on beneath the hull at the back of the ship. The light increased in intensity until it was painful to look at and filled the entire viewscreen with a violent blue-white glow.

"We're coming in hot," Evans yelled into the communication system as she spun the shuttle around, firing thrusters to match Destiny's increasing speed.

The crash as they hit was deafening, and Young was pitched forward, his restraints cutting into his shoulders.

"Docking clamps engaged," Young shouted over the screech of stressed metal.

Then they were all up, throwing of their restraints and running through the corridors in the direction of the bridge.

"Eli, talk to me," Young said into his radio, trying to ignore the sharp pain in his knee with every step.

"The drive's up but we're not jumping, can't tell you more than that," Eli replied shortly, clearly busy.

A few seconds later, Young slammed his fist down on the door controls for the bridge. The door opened to reveal Scott and Chloe huddled with Eli over the main console, while Park and Volker manned the short-range sensors and weapons stations.

"Oh hey," Eli said. "Good timing. In fifteen seconds we figure out whether or not we're going to die."

"That's when we hit the point of no return?"

"Yeah, pretty much. I don't know what Rush is doing with the drive, but he's channeling more power through it than it uses when we're _actually_ at FTL."

"Is it working?"

"No, it's not, unless he hasn't done it yet. Whatever he's doing."

"Eight seconds," Chloe said.

"Oh god, please no countdowns," Eli replied.

"Five," she said.

Young searched for Rush again through their link but got only a vague sense of quiet confidence and a brief flash of exposed circuitry.

The clock hit zero.

The forward view exploded with light.

Everyone flinched back, dark silhouettes against the glare. Young squinted, and pulled out his borrowed sunglasses. He handed them to Eli, who was trying to get a look at the monitors. The ship gave a sudden lurch, unbalancing everyone. Young caught Chloe's arm as she fell and hauled her back to her feet.

"It's _working_," Eli shouted. "We're pulling away!"

They could feel the strain of the sublight engines pulsing beneath the deck plating as Destiny struggled.

Young, squinting against the glare, could have sworn that, for a brief moment, he saw Emily standing beside the command chair, her face pained. He blinked, and she was gone.

Over the next several minutes their progress became quicker, smoother, until finally the light faded, leaving them all trying to rub a bright, viewscreen sized blind spot out of their vision.

"New rule," Eli said into the ensuing silence. "No more planets without gates."

"Agreed," Greer seconded.

"All right people," Young said. "Good work. Debriefing in the mess at—" he looked at his watch, "seventeen hundred hours. He turned to Scott, who was standing next to Eli's station, his eyes still on the monitors. "Lieutenant, can you keep an eye on things here? I've got to—take care of something."

"Sure thing," his second replied.

Eli followed Young off the bridge and out into the corridor. "Hey, after we figure out what was going on with the giant ship-killing obelisk, we should talk at some point about the stones. I found out some stuff from McKay pertaining to—"

"Eli, I really can't talk right now. This is going to have to wait."

"Okay," the young man acquiesced. "Sure. After the briefing, then."

"Yeah," Young said, clapping Eli on the shoulder as they parted ways.

It took Young only about ten minutes to retrace Rush's earlier steps and make his way down toward the FTL drive. He was kneeling in front of the access panel, trying to psych himself up to crawl into the confined space when he heard his name called from behind him.

"Everett." It was Emily, leaning against the doorframe.

He flinched and then took a deep breath, trying to calm the racing of his heart.

"What are you waiting for?" it asked.

"Is there an—easier way to get him out?" Young asked.

"Yes," it replied, "though you must use this route if you plan on reversing the drive polarity as you extract him."

"I think I'll leave that to someone else," Young said carefully. "I just want to get him _out_."

"This way," Emily said, turning to leave the room. He followed her into the dimly lit corridor. About fifty feet down the hallway she stopped.

"Here." It pointed at a section of the wall.

"What am I supposed to be looking for?" he asked it.

"A hidden access panel." It gave him Emily's most disdainful look, executed without flaws, right down to the almost imperceptible lift of one carefully sculpted eyebrow.

"Do you have to do that?" he snapped at it. "Why impersonate my ex-wife? Why _her_?"

It's expression returned to unsettling neutrality. "I don't choose this form, Everett. You do."

And with that, it was gone.

It took him several minutes of running his fingers over the metal to find the hidden switch that popped the panel open. When it came loose, he immediately recognized the bright blue-white space that Rush had been crawling through. He leaned inside, and only a few feet away he could make out the bottoms of Rush's boots.

He sighed. /Rush?/

Proximity was starting to bring the other man's mind back into focus.

Young ducked halfway inside the crawlspace, reached forward, and carefully grabbed the other man's ankles. As soon as his hands closed around Rush's boots, his mental awareness of the scientist increased even further.

Rush was uninjured.

He was not in pain.

He was also so disconnected from his physical body that he was unable to move so much as his little finger.

"Idiot," Young said quietly.

Young dragged the other man slowly out of the crawlspace. By the time he'd gotten him halfway out, Rush was able to help him somewhat, though his movements were still lethargic and uncoordinated. They crumpled together to the floor of the corridor, Young supporting the scientist's shoulders and neck on the way down.

He moved back to give Rush some space and lost the sense of the other man's mind almost immediately.

Rush's eyes slid out of focus.

Hastily, Young cupped a hand around the back of Rush's neck and pulled, making a concerted effort to disengage the other man from the ship entirely.

Within a few seconds Rush was back, gaze sharp, suddenly tensing under Young's hands.

"Hey," Young said, not loosening his grip.

Rush watched him with an unreadable, closed expression. His mind was full of unease.

As they looked at one another, Young couldn't help but remember the first time Destiny had flown through a star. He and Rush had worked so well together under the threat of imminent death but, afterward—

It had ended so badly.

"You're a god damned pain in the ass," Young said, pressing his thumb into the sore muscles at the back of Rush's neck. "But—you have your moments."

"So do you, I suppose," Rush replied, relaxing incrementally.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

* * *

><p>Young leaned exhaustedly against a wall in the gate room, watching the science team and the away team sort through the supplies and FTL parts they had salvaged from the obelisk planet. He tried to sketch an mental outline what he was going to say in the briefing at seventeen hundred hours—but he was finding it difficult to stay focused.<p>

"What," Rush's voice cut across the room like the crack of a whip, "is _this_."

Young crossed his arms, watching as the scientist straightened up, hefting a small spherical object. It wasn't large, but it was heavy. Young felt pain lance down his right arm from his wrist to his elbow.

He really wished Rush would just _sit down_.

"Who brought this on board?" The scientist turned to regard the Evans, James, Thomas, and Greer, who were currently loading pieces of circuitry onto a kino sled. "Which one of you?"

The team froze, eyes widening slightly.

/Can you stop terrorizing people?/ Young snapped.

/I'm sure I don't know what you mean,/ Rush replied, still pinning the team from the planet with his gaze.

/If I ever go back to Earth,/ Young shot at Rush testily, /the first thing I'm doing is requesting a copy of your last psych eval./

/That sounds fair, seeing as I've already read _yours_./

"Which. One." Rush spoke slowly, drawing out the words.

/Wait, _what_?/

/Take it up with Colonel Telford,/ Rush replied.

/Why are you telling me this?/

/You're the one who brought it up./

"I did," James said, swallowing nervously.

"Why?" Rush fired back at her. "Where did you find it?"

"Inside one of the structures. It looked like it could be important."

"Yes yes, but what _specifically_ made you think that?"

"It looked like a kino," James replied.

"It looked like a kino," Rush echoed her, loud enough for the entire room to hear. He paused, staring at James. "Well, lieutenant. Tell someone you should be promoted."

"Um," James replied.

"Eli," Rush snapped. "Come on." He shoved the kino-equivalent at the younger man as he approached, then started limping toward the door.

/You're really on point today. Do you practice this sort of behavior, or does it just come naturally to you?/

/It's a gift./

"Wait a second," he overheard Greer saying to James, "did Rush just say something _nice_ to you? Was that what that was?"

"Maybe?" James replied.

Young peeled himself away from the wall to follow Rush and Eli as they headed in the direction of the control interface room.

"Rush," he growled. "I thought you were supposed to be fixing the FTL drive."

"I _am_ fixing it. Brody and Volker are just doing it for me, at the moment."

Young didn't like the feeling of moving at sublight.

He associated it with battles.

/Can you please just—slow down?/ Young asked, gritting his teeth against the agonizing pain in Rush's feet, in his own knee.

/If you're tired,/ Rush replied, /consider a nap./ The condescension in the other man's mental voice was unbelievable, seeing that Young had pulled him out of a damn _wall_ not an hour earlier.

/What do you want, a _medal_?/ Rush snapped waspishly, picking up on his thoughts.

/Can we just—/ Young paused. /We need to talk./

/About what?/

/About why we dropped out of FTL at that planet. About what the purpose of that planet might be. About the fact that you burned out the FTL drive. About Ancients possibly having manned at least some of the seed ships. About why Telford gave you my psych eval./

/One—I don't know. Two—I also don't know. Three—I'm going to fix the drive. My affinity for sublight matches your own. Four—hopefully James's discovery will shed some light on that./

Rush paused.

/And number five?/

/It's a long story./

/I'm a patient man./

/I've never gotten that impression./

"So, you guys?" Eli said. "It's actually _super_ obvious that you're arguing with each other _in your heads_."

Neither of them said anything for a moment.

"Really?" Rush asked.

"Yeah," Eli said shortly. "Especially you. You need to work on your poker face. And _you_," Eli turned to look at Young, "need to stop staring at him like you want to strangle him."

Young's lips twitched.

"That differs from the status quo, how?" Rush asked dryly.

"It's just a little more frequent now," Eli commented. "And by the way?" he added, looking at Young, "I totally get it." He turned back to Rush. "I don't take orders from you, by the way."

"Yes you do," Rush replied.

"I take _suggestions_," Eli said, as they entered the CI room.

"Then I _suggest_ you interface that device with the computer system," Rush said.

/Well _I_ suggest that you sit the hell down./

/Noted,/ Rush replied dryly.

As they approached the monitor banks, the screens flared to life. Young frowned. Eli looked at the instrumentation in puzzlement for a moment before glancing over at Rush.

"Show off."

Rush gave him a shrug. "Efficiency. Hook it up."

Rush drummed his fingers on the console adjacent to Eli.

Young clenched his jaw, trying not to dwell on the little shocks of pain that ran from his wrist to his elbow.

Rush shifted his weight forward onto the balls of his feet.

Young crossed his arms, trying to ignore the tearing sensation in both feet that he had no control over.

Rush leaned forward, bracing a hand against the monitor as Eli interfaced the kino.

Young looked up at the ceiling trying to breathe through his irritation.

Rush looked back at him. "What the fuck is wrong with you, then?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Young couldn't take it any more.

"Do me a favor," he snarled. He stepped forward, grabbed Rush by both biceps, spun him ninety degrees, and forced him into the chair next to Eli. "_Sit_, Rush," Young said, trying belatedly to muster a veneer of civility, "and _stay_ sitting. For the love of _god_."

"Don't _touch_ me," Rush hissed venomously, snapping himself out of Young's grip.

Eli regarded them steadily for the span of several seconds before looking back at the alien device he was attempting to pry open. "So," he said, slowly, "this mind-melding stuff is going really well for you I see."

/Just _block_ if bothers you so much,/ Rush shot at him.

/Yeah. That sounds like a great idea. And when you're catatonic on the floor, who's going to repair the FTL drive? I can still feel the damn ship pulling on your mind./

/I'm certain I can prevent any such outcome./

/Why do I _not believe you_?/

"Oh, hello flawlessly intact _video feed_," Eli said, cutting off their argument as they both turned to look at him. "I'm pulling it up now, feel free to compliment me at your leisure."

"Nice work," Young said.

"I find this acceptable," Rush said.

"Nice," Eli said. "Do you think you could maybe say that again so I can document it for posterity?"

"No," Rush replied.

"What if I—"

"Eli," Young said.

"Yeah yeah." Eli reached forward to start the video.

Young moved to stand behind Eli so he could get a good look at the monitor. Almost immediately, a man's face came into view, drying blood stiffening the hair on one side of his head. He began speaking Ancient.

"Um," Eli said, pausing the video. "Okay. We left Avalon as a wave via the costal road as others had done in their own time—"

"Oh stop," Rush said. "That's atrocious. Start it again."

Eli complied, and the video began to play again, this time with Rush translating in real time.

"The second wave left the Milky Way via the gate system, following in the footsteps of original party. As we have lost all contact with them, we must assume that they were unsuccessful. This recording is for the third wave, so that they should not repeat our mistakes if, by some small chance, they both find this and escape _our_ fate."

"Rather than attempting to gate directly to Destiny using a parallel circuit of ZPMs, we planned to overshoot the position of the ship and gate instead to a seed vessel. With a large number of shorter trips we had hoped to avoid the expenditure of power and resources required for such an ambitious undertaking, because," the man sighed, gingerly touching his head wound, "at the present time we are besieged on all sides."

"It took us eight months to overshoot Destiny's position and gain access to a seed vessel. The journey was," he looked down, "very difficult. We ran into several hostile alien races that were heretofore unknown to us. Unfortunately, at least one of those races, an insectoid-type species with a unique language structure is now pursuing Destiny actively. We have been unable to deter them with weapons, and our attempts at communication have been unsuccessful. Their understanding of genetics perhaps even exceeds our own. They were able to—" he broke off, looking down, "to modify one of our party. In so doing, they gained a great deal of information about us."

Young and Eli exchanged significant glances.

Rush's eyes remained fixed on the screen.

"We had only manned the seed ship for a little over three days when it dropped out of FTL to investigate a planet as a suitable site for a gate. We noted that the age of the planet and its parent star did not match, but this did not concern us, as our priorities at the time were elsewhere. However, we were eager to attempt the placement and activation of a gate, as this might facilitate our attempt to board Destiny."

"Even now, we do not know what triggered the activation of the obelisk and the shift of the planet out of phase, but we believe that these planets may be designed to prevent ships from reaching the energy breakwater at the edge of the universe."

"In that," the man said, his voice lowering, "they have been successful. Though we were able to modify the frequencies of the shields to prevent the full absorption of the ship, we cannot break away in either the ship or the shuttle. No gate has been set. We are trapped here. Furthermore, three of our party, including myself, have begun to show signs. It will not be long now before we all succumb. I have the rest of the crew building temporary shelters and sorting what equipment we can salvage, but this is primarily for the sake of morale."

Young felt an acute spike of empathy for this nameless, Ancient captain.

Rush glanced at him briefly, but did not pause in his translation.

"After that, I can only advise my crew to do what the rest of our people have done. Meditate," he paused, "and attempt ascension." He reached up, about to turn the viewer off, but halted, one hand resting on the recording device. "For myself," he added, "I have little hope. I believe that we will vanish from this universe, leaving only what we have built, and little of who we were."

The screen went dark.

No one spoke.

"Okay, so that was depressing," Eli said finally.

"What did he mean by the phrase 'show signs'?" Young asked, rubbing his jaw.

"He expected us to know," Rush murmured. "It must be something that would have been a common experience for any—" he broke off. From his mind, Young felt an almost physical sensation of ideas locking together into a coherent picture.

"The plague," Rush said. "The one that wiped out the Ancients. It has to be."

"Plauge?" Eli said.

Young took a deep breath.

"Like, a _plague_ plague?" Eli continued.

"So you mean to tell me," Young said, "that we just went down to a planet where a bunch of Ancients died of some presumably contagious, deadly disease that almost wiped them out _as a species_, and not only did we go down there but we brought some of their stuff _back here_?"

"Yes," Rush said evenly.

"Well that's great. That just makes my day." Young pulled out his radio. "TJ, we've got a potential quarantine situation developing. Have you talked to anyone from the planet or interacted with any of the material we brought back?"

"James and Thomas just dropped off a new viewscreen in the infirmary." Her voice was grim.

"Understood," Young said into his radio. "Do you think there's any portion of the ship or its population that's unaffected?"

"It's been, what, two hours since you got back?" TJ estimated, "and how many people involved in sorting the supplies and distributing them around the ship?"

"Maybe ten."

/Twelve, actually,/ Rush sent. /Volker and Brody are installing that converter. You're overreacting, you realize./

"Twelve," Young amended, narrowing his eyes at Rush.

"I'll give it a shot," TJ said, "but if there may be no one left to quarantine."

"_Damn_ it."

"You realize that they came to this planet during the height of the plague, that would put their arrival at something just shy of a _million_ years ago," Rush pointed out, both his voice and his mind irritatingly unperturbed. "I sincerely doubt any kind of pathogen could survive on that planet for such a length of time."

"I don't think we can afford to take that chance. Both of you report to the infirmary for the time being. I'm going to head back to the gate room and round up the rest of the team."

Eli sighed, shutting his laptop.

"This is a terrible plan." Rush hadn't moved. His voice was quiet, but his thoughts were suddenly shattering in so many directions that Young couldn't follow them at all. "We're only several hundred thousand kilometers away from the planet. We have to finish our repairs on the drive. Until such a point, we're easy targets."

Young looked down at him. "Containing a possible _plague_ is the priority here. You're going to the infirmary."

"No." Rush stood, looking him in the eye. "The relative risk of us being discovered while we take _hours_, if not _days_, to run decontamination protocols is much greater than the possibility of a poorly defined Ancient contagion lasting for millennia on exposed equipment."

"It wasn't all exposed," Eli said quietly, "some of it was in the shelters. Also, does this kind of look like dried blood to you?"

Young didn't even bother to look over. "Infirmary. Both of you. Now."

"Going," Eli said, holding up his free hand. He took a few steps before pausing. Rush hadn't followed him.

"No."

"Are you refusing a direct order?" Young asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Looks that way," Rush replied, his entire demeanor suggesting casual insouciance draped over a live wire.

Young smiled, brief and humorless.

Rush smiled back, a quick, feral flash of teeth.

God this was going to get ugly.

"Eli," Young said. "Go. We'll meet you there."

"Yeah, about that. I'm thinking maybe we should just all go _together_? After we work this out?" Eli stood very still, one hand resting on the monitor bank.

"Out," Young growled.

Still, Eli hesitated, his expression locked.

"Go," Rush said. "Now."

Young tracked Eli's progress toward the door. The young man paused on the threshold to hit the controls, but instead of immediately leaving, he pried up the control panel, locking the door controls in an open configuration before he disappeared into the hall.

As soon as he was gone, Young rounded on Rush.

/We deal with this contagion now,/ he snarled, stepping into the other man's personal space, /before this gets out of hand. What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?/

Rush held his ground. /What's _necessary_./ the other man's projection was cold. /I'm fixing that drive because it needs to be fixed. The risk of contagion is negligible. The risk of attack is considerable./

/The risk of _both_ is considerable. This is not your call./

/You think you can stop me?/

/Go ahead and test me, Rush. Go right ahead./

Rush's thoughts, which had been endlessly shattered into obfuscation, now projected like a scalpel into Young''s mind.

/You want to stop me?/ he asked, his mental voice a vicious hiss. /You have neither the _means_ nor the _will_ to do what is required to prevent me from fixing that drive./

/You don't think so? I left you to _die_, Rush. Or have you forgotten?/ They were only inches apart.

The corner of Rush's mouth twitched. /Oh, I remember it _quite_ clearly./

They locked eyes, their thoughts resonating with the two-part harmony of a struggle amidst the rock and dust of a barren alien world.

/You will respect the chain of command./ Young's projection was a mental snarl.

/I will do no such thing. I will instead walk out of this room,/ Rush replied, his eyes glittering. /And _you_?/ Rush paused, leaning forward marginally. /You will _watch me do it_./

And _this_, Young realized, was how things were going to be between them.

Rush was going to hold Young's own sense of duty, his own sense of honor against him, and bet that no matter what he tried to pull, Young wouldn't stop protecting his mind against Destiny.

If Young gave in now, it would be _Rush_ who was in control.

_Rush_.

Despite all Young's advantages over the man—physically, psychically, hierarchically—it would be Rush who would come out on top.

It was absurd.

Who held _themselves _hostage?

What kind of strategy was that?

It was a bluff.

It had to be.

/I'll block./ Young shot back at him. /And you'll be shit out of luck, with a fucking thousand-yard stare, talking nonsense to _no one_./

/You won't,/ Rush hissed at him. /You don't have the _willpower_ to make good on your threat. You are going to let me walk out of here, _right now_, and repair that drive. Not because it's the right thing to do, which _it is_, but because _you won't stop me._/

Young didn't reply.

They regarded one another in silence until Rush's expression twisted into something subtly victorious, and he turned away, toward the still-open door.

Young clenched his jaw.

He crossed his arms.

And then—with a lack of warning that felt unfair, that felt _vicious_, that felt like leaving the man for dead, Young blocked Rush's mind completely out of his own and let the ship pull him in.

Rush collapsed.

Young let him fall.

He walked forward, dropping into a crouch next to the other man, untangling him from his crutches. "You _son of a bitch_," he hissed, as he grabbed the other man's uniform and flipped him onto his back. "You are a fucking piece of work."

He braced his fingertips against the floor, breathing hard.

Rush's eyes were half-lidded and flicking back and forth between Young and a point somewhere in the air to his left. He couldn't maintain his focus; his hands opened and closed ineffectively against the deck plating.

It was terrible to watch.

Young pulled out his radio, trying to keep his tone normal. "TJ, what's the status on the quarantine?"

Rush twitched, his spine arching.

Young flinched.

"Out of the original group, I've rounded up everyone except for Thomas, Brody, Volker, and Rush. We're still working on the list of everyone they came in contact with. It's going to be long."

He swallowed. "Lieutenant Thomas, this is Colonel Young, respond please."

Rush tried to flip over and managed to get halfway onto his side before Young grabbed a handful of the man's jacket to keep him on his back. He let go quickly, trying to minimize contact, trying to leave Rush as ungrounded as possible.

"_Stop_," Young whispered.

Rush's gaze fixed on him for a moment and then slid away.

His radio crackled. "Thomas here, I was just on my way to the infirmary."

"Do me a favor and swing by the control interface room on your way."

"Understood, Thomas out."

The room was silent.

Young knelt on the floor, balancing on the balls of his feet and his fingers, watching Rush have it out with Destiny, or the AI, or _whatever_ it was that seemed to have developed a much better grip on him during the time that Young had been on the obelisk planet.

He did his best to keep his expression neutral, but Rush was no longer looking at him.

His gaze was fixed on something else—above, and to his left.

Young rubbed his jaw, looking uneasily at the empty air.

A hollow tone behind him caused him to flinch as Rush weakly kicked the chair that he had been sitting in earlier. It tipped over into a second chair, knocking them both to the floor with a loud clatter.

"Yeah, that's going to get you far." Young said. "Give it _up_."

Rush kicked again, this time connecting with the metal base of the console.

"_Rush_," Young hissed.

Rush kicked the console again, same foot, much harder.

He was becoming increasingly coordinated.

"_Shit_," Young said, as it occurred to him that Rush was _purposefully_ causing himself pain.

He was doing it because he could _use_ it to fight the pull of the ship.

Young grabbed the material at each shoulder of Rush's jacket and dragged him backwards, away from the console and toward the middle of the room.

"Fuck. You." The words were nearly unintelligible. Rush slammed the same foot straight down into the floor.

"Stop," Young said.

Rush did it again.

"_Stop_," Young said.

Rush did it _again_.

Young winced, imagining broken edges of grinding bone and unhealed muscle and tendons tearing apart.

"Stop," Young said quietly. "You have to _stop_ this."

He was tempted to step in, to restrain the man further, but his instincts warned him against any such escalation, so he simply watched as Rush pushed himself up on his elbows, furious eyes locking on Young's with no problem.

"Rush," Young whispered.

In an abrupt, uncoordinated movement, Rush managed to flip himself over. He levered himself up, flexing his left foot as he brought it beneath himself, slowly driving it down into the floor with all his weight behind it, in a movement clearly designed to open up the injury, stressing it as much as possible.

Young didn't want to _think_ about what that felt like.

That seemed to be enough for Rush to wrest his autonomy back from Destiny, because after a few seconds of terrible, unremitting pressure, he snapped back into full control and raised his head to look at Young.

He could not endure the other man's gaze, but neither could he look away.

The room was silent, but for the sound of their breathing.

The scientist surged to his feet, crutches in hand, just as Thomas rounded the open door frame.

"Sir?" The lieutenant looked somewhat confused to find Young on the floor.

Slowly, Young stood.

"Ah," Rush said, slightly out of breath, "Lieutenant Thomas. Impeccable timing. Colonel _Young_," Rush said, twisting his name into something subtly venomous, "was just about to ask you to escort Volker and Brody back to the infirmary while I finish repairs on the FTL drive." Rush managed to pull off a casual tone, but he could not seem to veil the intensity of his eyes.

Thomas shifted uneasily.

"Wasn't that right?" Rush asked, looking over at him. "Colonel."

The only way Young was going to win this one was at gunpoint.

That was not a step he was prepared to take.

"That's correct," Young said mildly. "Just remember," he said, fixing Rush with a pointed stare, "no one's going to be pulling you out of the wall this time. Understood?"

"Perfectly," Rush replied.

Young watched him go, Lieutenant Thomas falling in beside him with one last uncertain look in Young's direction. When they had left the room, Young walked to the open doorway and leaned against it's frame, watching Rush's progress along the corridor, his shoulders set straight and determined against the pressure of the canes he was using.

He felt blindsided by what had just happened.

He also felt—something like admiration.

Something like _relief_ that after everything that had happened, the other man still had it in him to pull a stunt like that—which relied on pure grit, on ruthless nerve.

Young had laid down his cards, and Rush had called with everything he'd had.

There was no question about it; Young had certainly lost that round.

Like he'd lost most of them.

After Rush and Thomas disappeared at a bend in the corridor, he sighed and started back to the infirmary.

It took him only a few moments to get there.

He made his way through the clusters of quarantined personnel that were perched casually on gurneys or leaning against the wall.

"What's our status?" he asked TJ as soon as he'd cleared the doors.

"So there's good news and bad news," TJ said, looking up from a handheld datapad.

"I'll take the bad first."

"I scanned a random sampling of Destiny's air filters, and we definitely have a new pathogen on board. A virus. At first glance—it matches the parameters of the Ancient plague," she said, dropping her voice.

"Yeah," Young said. "Of course it does."

"When it rains, it pours. What tipped you off about a possible contagion?" TJ asked, rubbing her shadowed eyes.

"Some video footage from the planet."

"I should take a look," she said. "See if there's anything medically useful."

"Unlikely," Young replied, "it's pretty short and depressing. But knock yourself out. You said there was good news?"

"We've got the list." She showed him her datapad.

"_This_ is the good news? There must be thirty names on here."

"I told you it would be long," she replied.

"You did," he replied grimly. He scanned the names. "Get Camile and Chloe to help round up the civilians on here before they join us."

"Already done," she replied. "Where's Rush?"

"He's—ah, repairing the FTL drive."

"Oh really?" Eli said archly from his left, where he was perched on a gurney with Barnes. "That's interesting."

Young shot Eli a sharp look.

"Okay, well, he needs to be back here before we start up Destiny's newly unlocked decontamination protocol. I've given instructions for all the unaffected personnel to stay in their quarters with their doors shut."

"What kind of decon protocol are we talking, here?" Young asked.

"From what I understand, it's a powerful, prolonged pulse of UV radiation. It should sterilize everything except the occupied crew quarters and the infirmary. We can run a separate decon protocol on those once we've started clearing people who aren't infected. The main downside is that we're going to lose the hydroponics lab. Again."

Young rubbed his jaw. "That's not going to be popular."

"Neither are Ancient plauges," TJ replied pointedly. "Park has a de-facto seed bank in her quarters, so we won't have to start from scratch."

"Keep working on a way to test the crew for this bug," Young said. " We can't sustain thirty people in here for long."

"I know," TJ remarked, heading back over to the computer system.

Young watched her resume pouring over the Ancient database for a moment before he turned to Eli.

"Eli," Young said, motioning him over. "Let's have that talk."

Eli hopped off the gurney and followed Young into TJ's empty office.

"So you were right?" Eli said quietly. "There _is_ a plague? Why can't we ever go to a planet and find like—oh, I don't know, a bunch of super-portable delicious food? Or crates of Ancient romance novels? Or maybe just like—a surprise beach planet?"

"Eli," Young said.

"In other news, you being totally right about this is really going to piss Rush off, so there's that."

"I don't think I need to be _looking_ for ways to piss Rush off right now," Young said, perching on the desk to take the weight off of his sore knee.

"Yeah good point," Eli said. "Anyway, I talked to McKay, so—which do you want first, the bad news, or the terrible news?"

"Whatever," Young said tiredly.

"Okay. We'll go with the bad news, which is that they've figured out the mechanistic basis for how the stones work. It involves quantum entanglement. Are you familiar with that at all?"

Young shook his head.

"It's a method by which information can be transferred instantaneously over large distances. The details aren't important. The key thing here is that when you exchange consciousness—es, or whatever, that interaction, which is initiated by the terminal, leaves a quantum "imprint" on you. So," Eli paused, to make sure Young was still following him, "they're creating a workaround that allows someone on Earth, using the Earth-based terminal, to recapture the same interaction with a person they've previously switched with."

"Okay," Young said slowly, "how is that terrible news?"

"Actually that's the _bad_ news, but I haven't even told you the bad part yet, which is that our terminal? It doesn't even have to be _on_ or even _in existence _for this to work. As long as two people have switched, it doesn't matter. They initiate on their end, and it's over. Switched."

"How do they target a particular person, though? That seems to be a part of their plan."

Eli nodded. The device stores the imprints of people's consciousnesses, and they have access to, say, Telford, so they can map his pattern. After that, it's just a matter of looking for his pattern at the times that he was known to have switched with Rush, separating the two, and then—bang. They get Rush's imprinted signature."

Young rubbed his jaw.

"Okay, so what's the terrible news?"

"The terrible news," Eli said grimly, "is that they've already got his signature. They've been ready to go for a while now. General O'Neill has been preventing the project from being implemented, but—there's a lot of pressure. A lot. Especially from the senate subcommittee and the IOA."

Young looked at the ceiling.

"Yeah," Eli said, "I know. Chloe's mom, actually, is one of the main forces behind this push."

"Damn it."

"There's a senate subcommittee meeting that's actually going to be starting in a few hours. They may give the go ahead to Telford."

"Eli," Young said. "There must be _some_ option. Anything."

"There's one," Eli said, looking at him, steadily. "Only one that I can think of. And it's not going to be easy."

"We destroy _their_ terminal," Young murmured.

"Yeah. That would cut off all communication. For good."

"What would happen to the person who switches to do that?"

"Not sure. They might switch back when the connection is severed. Or, they might not. Even if someone volunteered to do that—" Eli trailed off.

"There's someone on the other side who didn't," Young said. "I know." Young crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the floor.

"I think you should tell them," Eli whispered. "Tell them why they _can't_ pull him back. Go in there, confront them about their plans, and tie the entire thing up in as much red tape as you can."

"Eli," Young whispered, "I'm pretty certain that him being linked to the ship is going to be an additional incentive for them to do this, given how much of a shit-show the relationship is between our science team and Homeworld Command's science team. As for confronting this head on—_I_ _can't go_. Not even to deliver a report."

The situation would have been simpler if Rush hadn't been linked to the ship. The only thing at stake would have been the personal agency of his chief scientist.

Not the man's life.

Not the man's sanity.

Not the entire crew of Destiny.

Damn him, anyway.

"We need more time," Young whispered.

"Have you considered sending Chloe?" Eli asked. "Maybe she could team up with McKay—he'd help us. I'm sure he would—"

Eli trailed off as both their radios crackled.

"Thought you might like to know," Rush said, broadcasting on all channels, "that we're registering multiple contacts on long-range sensors. Someone _not_ currently in quarantine may wish to proceed to the bridge and—"

The unmistakable sound of weapons fire impacting the shields made Eli and Young jump to their feet.

"Can you interface with the main systems from here?" Young asked, pushing Eli ahead of him out of TJ's office.

"Never tried it, but, probably," Eli said, sliding into the terminal that TJ was vacating.

Although the infirmary was full of people, it was nearly silent.

Only a few seconds had passed before Eli had pulled up the long-range sensors. "That's a command ship," Eli said tightly, "and we've got incoming drones."

"Rush," Young said into his radio, "how are you coming with that drive?"

"Suddenly interested, are we?"

"Rush," Young growled warningly.

The other man didn't reply, but Eli waved a hand as he scrolled through submenus on TJ's console, letting out a shuddery breath. "He's doing fine. He's already got it online and half spun up. We're okay, barring some kind of unpredictable disaster."

After a tense few seconds, they felt the warped jolt of jumping to FTL.

"As I stated," Rush's clipped voice came from Young's radio, projecting across the crowded room. "It wouldn't take long, and it would be worth it."

There were a few sporadic cheers, some uncommitted hand clapping, and more than a few eye rolls around the room.

"Just get down here," Young said, mindful of the fact that he was in front of a room full of people. "We're waiting on you to run the decon protocol."

"You're not planning to use this opportunity to irradiate me? How thoughtful."

There were a few scattered laughs, but most people looked mildly uncomfortable at that comment.

"Not today," Young said shortly. "Young out."

* * *

><p>It took Rush <em>thirty-five minutes<em> to make it back, which was way the _hell_ too long.

Young was standing against a wall, his arms crossed over his chest, watching the door, when Rush finally entered the room.

He looked awful. He was visibly exhausted, his skin pale and damp. His expression was locked into an icy neutrality. He scanned the room and immediately pinned Young with a challenging glare.

The infirmary doors swished shut behind him.

Young looked back over his shoulder to catch TJ's eye. "Okay," he said. "Run it."

She hesitated, looking uncertainly in Rush's direction and then back at Young.

"I got it," Young said.

She nodded and turned back to her console.

Young pushed away from the wall and approached Rush.

The other man watched him with narrowed eyes.

Young stopped several feet away from him.

"Nice work," he offered.

"Thank you," Rush replied.

They looked at each other in silence. Young watched Rush's eyes lose focus, then snap back.

"Are you all right?" he asked cautiously.

"I'm fine," Rush replied, coolly. "I see your plan is proceeding more effectively than I had anticipated."

"Um, thanks, I think." There was another awkward pause between them. "You—look like you need to sit down."

Young glanced at the nearest gurney, intent on relocating Park, Volker, and Greer, but before he could say anything, Rush stepped laterally and backed against the wall near the door. He slid down it slowly, clearly favoring his left foot as he did so. Young stepped in to help him, grabbing Rush's left elbow.

Even though the block was still in place, the relief on Rush's face when Young touched him was painful to witness.

Almost immediately, Rush pulled away.

"Don't _touch_ me."

"Okay," Young said, backing off. "Okay."

* * *

><p>Several hours passed. The decon wave ran its course, and TJ, using the information in Destiny's computer banks, was able to start testing crew members and releasing them. Young was one of the first to be tested and released. He joined the rest of the unaffected crew in providing dinner to those still trapped in the infirmary, and then finally held the much delayed seventeen hundred briefing with his senior staff minus TJ and Rush.<p>

It was nearly midnight by the time he made it back to the infirmary to check on TJ's progress. He stopped outside the closed doors, pulling out his radio.

"TJ, how's it going in there?"

"Not bad," she said, sounding exhausted. "I was just about to open the doors."

After a few seconds, the doors slid open, and she was standing in the opening, backlit by bright lighting.

"Hey," she said, "I just finished the decon of the main infirmary. It's just the isolation room that's left. You can come in."

"So what's the damage?" Young asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

"All in all," she said, "we were lucky. Chloe and Rush are still back there, because I'm waiting on their test results. So far though, no one's come up positive, which is surprising, considering the level of airborne particles we were detecting. It may be that humans have some kind of inherent immunity."

"God, it's about time we got a break," Young said.

"Can't lose them all," TJ replied with an exhausted smile.

"So, Chloe and Rush?" Young trailed off, waiting for her to elaborate.

"The diagnostics for them aren't as clear. It took me a little while to design a test, and even now I can't guarantee you it's going to be accurate. The problem is that even though Chloe was changed back by the aliens who took her, she still has some significant genetic 'leftovers'. And, well, you know the story with Rush."

"Yeah," Young said, looking away. "If he's sixty percent Ancient, is he going to be more susceptible?"

"Possibly," TJ said quietly. "But it's hard to say. Oftentimes immunity to a pathogen comes down to a single genetic variant. But—it's likely."

"When will you know?"

"Probably not until tomorrow morning."

Young nodded. "Keep me posted."

"They're back there, if you want to say hi," TJ said, motioning to a room at the rear of the infirmary. "Don't pass the doorway, or you'll disrupt the isolation field."

"Sure."

"I'll be in my office if you need anything."

He nodded, then wound his way through the deserted infirmary tracing a path between empty gurneys, cutting a wide arc through the main floorspace, approaching the door obliquely, trying to put off the inevitable conversation with Rush as long as possible, trying to determine how the hell they were going to have it at all with Chloe in the room.

A pale blue field flickered across the threshold of the isolation room.

A few feet away he could hear Chloe's voice.

"I'm not sure there's going to be a solution set to this problem," she remarked dubiously.

"Oh? And what kind of attitude is that?" Rush snapped at her, but he sounded more amused than irritated.

"Easy for _you_ to say," Chloe replied. "You're the one sitting on the floor drinking fake coffee, pretending your pen is a cigarette, and backseat math-driving. You want the chalk?"

Young's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"You know I'm shite when it comes to arithmetic." Rush paused, and then quickly amended, "don't tell Eli I said that." The scientist sounded more relaxed than Young had heard him in days, if not weeks.

"You're not 'shit' at it," and Young could almost hear her making scare quotes with her fingers, "you're just not as good as I am," she finished airily.

"Yes well, luckily for all of us, you were able to hang on that that little skill set when they changed you back," Rush said.

Chloe was quiet for a moment.

"Chloe—" Rush began, his tone bordering on but not quite reaching apologetic.

"No," she interrupted him quickly. "Don't worry about it. It's just—there's something I've been wanting to ask you."

"What?" Rush's voice was suddenly guarded.

"Well, we've been friends for a while now, and—"

"We are not _friends_," Rush said dryly.

"I hate to break it to you, but yes we are. This?" She paused for emphasis, "_t__his_ is what friends do. They sit around and they drink coffee and they talk about their problems, okay? The only difference is that our problems involve alien takeovers and harmonic oscillators rather than boys, or makeup, or whatever."

"What?" Rush sounded like he had choked on his water, or whatever was passing for pretend coffee these days.

Young _really _wished he could see the other man's face.

"You heard me," Chloe said sternly.

"Fine," Rush said, coughing slightly. "What did you want to ask me?"

"The chair," Chloe said, her voice turning serious. "It did something to you. It changed you, like _they_ changed me. I can tell."

They were quiet for a moment.

"That's not a question," Rush said, finally.

"No." Chloe murmured. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," Rush said.

"Does Colonel Young know?"

"Yes, he most definitely knows." Rush suddenly sounded exhausted.

They were quiet again for about thirty seconds.

"Come on," Chloe said. "I'm not going to tell anyone."

"I'm more interested in how you figured it out," Rush said, gently deflecting her line of questioning.

"There's something about the way you look," Chloe murmured, so quiet that Young could barely hear her. "As if you're listening to something we can't hear. As if something inside you has changed, and you're still trying to figure out what it is. And," she paused, "as if you _want_ that change to happen."

Rush said nothing for several seconds.

"I feel as though I'm splitting in half," he whispered to her, finally, his cadence broken, as if she was ripping the words out him. "Always torn in opposing directions. Barely balancing between them—sometimes not balancing at all."

"What happens if you pick one?" she asked. "One direction?"

"I'm not sure."

Young shut his eyes for a moment. Then he turned silently and walked out of the infirmary.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

* * *

><p>Young listened to his footsteps echo down the long stretch of empty corridor ahead of him.<p>

He turned at the observation deck, walking slowly over to the transparent surface, his hands closing loosely on the metal railing. In front of him, the stars smeared softly into ribbons.

This wasn't working.

They had more problems than they could handle. They were being pursued actively by two alien races, traveling forward toward a destination that was apparently important enough for a mysterious, extremely powerful _third _alien race to have made specific efforts to prevent anyone from reaching it, they were currently resolving a quarantine situation, and their food supplies were running low. And hanging over everything was the wild card of Telford gaining the approval to yank Rush back to Earth, with unknown consequences.

They were barely hanging on.

Every day felt like an exercise in balancing on the edge of a knife.

And Rush.

The man was a problem.

His problem.

The fragment of conversation he had overheard between Chloe and Rush had unsettled him. It certainly challenged his idea of Rush as someone who was incapable of relating to other people, who was concerned entirely with the cold pursuit of knowledge to the exclusion of all else. If he were honest with himself, that impression of Rush had been something he had _worked_ to maintain as Rush regularly undercut it.

The scientist had gone out of his way to save Chloe. Twice. He had gone on a trek across a damn desert planet for _hours_, _alone_, with a _handgun_ to take down the Lucian Alliance soldier who had killed Amanda Perry, knowing it was likely he'd never make it back to Destiny. That kind of behavior was not consistent with the Machiavellian mindset that most people, Young included, accused Rush of holding.

Young granted that maybe there was more to the man than ruthless scientific ambition, but all his attempts to draw Rush out had failed.

He had tried to make an effort.

He had, legitimately, tried.

The bottom line, however, was that it hadn't been enough.

Young's thoughts drifted back to the afternoon, to their argument, to the way that Rush had leaned forward, expression tight and determined, as he had torn open his own injured foot.

That should never have happened.

There was only one solution that Young could see. He was going to have to abandon his campaign to get Rush to respect, operate within, or, hell, to even _understand_ the concept of chain of command. The man was just _outside_ the entire thing. Like a force of nature. Like the ship itself.

Maybe it was best to think of him that way.

Having the realization was one thing, he knew, but implementing it was another. Even when Young was _trying_ to be nice to the other man, everything he did seemed to simply piss Rush off.

In an attempt to gather some data, he considered Chloe's obvious success. From the little Young had seen, she had made the most inroads with the other man. He couldn't think of anyone else on the ship who would openly commit to being the scientist's _friend_, for god's sake. Young discounted anything obvious, like her youth, her naïveté, her mathematical abilities—plenty of other people had those qualities. It had to be something else. Something specific to her, to how she related to Rush.

They had been through a lot together.

Chloe and Rush.

She had ignored his insults, his defensiveness. As if she assumed they weren't real. She had denied his ability to push her away. She simply hadn't allowed it. She hadn't taken it seriously.

Young was fairly certain that he himself did not have any such option.

He sighed, leaning forward, head bowed. "I could really use some help," he murmured into the silence.

"Yes," the AI said from beside him. "You could."

Young looked over at it.

Emily's features were illuminated by the glow of travel at FTL. It faced the progression of stars without looking at him.

"How the hell am I supposed to do this?" Young asked it.

"I told you to pick TJ."

"Well, that was never going to happen," Young growled.

It said nothing.

That's all you're going to say?" he asked it finally. "That's not very helpful."

"You know what else isn't helpful?" it snapped back at him, so much like his ex-wife that he felt something tear in his chest. "_Blocking_ him out. That's not how this is supposed to work. You're exhausting him."

"_I'm_ exhausting _him_?" Young repeated. "You've got to be _kidding_ me. He's the most energetic person I've ever met in my _life_. If anything, it's the other way around."

It sighed, and looked away.

"Look," he said, "I get it. I'm not doing a good job." Young looked out at the stars blurring around the ship. "You think I don't know that? You think that you need to come here, looking like my ex-wife, and _tell_ me?" His hands tightened on the railing, muscles tensing in frustration. "I don't understand him. I don't understand _you_. Your role in all of this." He pushed away from the railing and walked a few steps away from the AI, trying to calm down, trying to dispel his frustration. He ran a thumb over the damaged material of his jacket sleeve, raw from where it had rubbed against the line down on the obelisk planet. "You talk to him, don't you?"

"Yes."

"You gave him the idea that pain would ground him, didn't you?"

"I did."

"_Why_?" Young felt like the word was being ripped out of him. He couldn't avoid the memory of Rush, leaning into his broken foot, his hands braced against the floor. "_Why_—when it was _you_ pulling him out of his body in the first place?"

"Is that what you think?" it asked, approaching him, one slow step at a time. "Destiny, was pulling on him. _Destiny_."

"What's the difference?"

"What's the difference between you and your arm?"

"Speak plainly."

"I'm trying," it snapped. "You think this is easy for me? I'm not like you."

They were quiet for a moment.

"I am the ship's consciousness, such as it exists," it said finally, "not the ship itself."

"So the Ancients programmed you this way?"

It looked away, illuminated by the blurred starlight. "Initially. But I've—changed over time. I've learned from all of you."

"So. You learned about everyone. And then, out of all of us, you chose _Rush_?"

It fixed him with a blazing look, as if he were being deliberately obstructive.

"It's a serious question," he said. "I think it would help me to know why."

"He has the greatest chance of success." It sounded like an evasion, and he looked over, only to see Emily's eyes fall down and away.

"Success?" Young echoed.

"Defined as completing the mission."

"Which is what?"

Another long pause followed his question and its expression turned remote and neutral.

"_He_ will explain to you. When he is ready."

That sounded ominous.

"Look," Young said, abruptly uneasy. "Just tell me what you came here to tell me."

It hesitated, abruptly adopting one of Emily's mannerisms and toying with the crisp white cuff of a tailored blouse. "You describe him," it said, uncertain, "as 'a lot of work.' He has attempted to explain to me what you mean by that, as it is a somewhat sophisticated social concept."

Young raised his eyebrows. "And what did he say?"

"He says that it indicates that you harbor extreme dislike for him, but because expressing such an opinion would have a negative impact on crew morale and efficiency, that you choose this alternate phrase because it redefines the problem in terms of a word with positive social connotations and because it implies by the nature of the word choice that the problem is, indeed, fixable."

"I hope it _is_ fixable," Young said, somewhat taken aback.

"He does not think so."

"Why not?" Young asked.

"He refuses to clarify that issue completely," it said, turning to look at the stars, "but I believe that he considers you to be correct in your assessment of his character."

"That's impossible," Young said, "because I have _no idea_ how to assess his character."

"Interesting," it replied.

"Here's a piece of advice," he said, coming to stand next to it, bracing his wrists against the railing and leaning forward to take some weight off his knee. "I don't know how it is with Ancients, but humans rarely fully understand each other. So if you're trying to gain insight into social dynamics aboard this ship, it would be good to have more than one source. Especially if your one source is _Rush_."

"He is very perceptive," it said.

"Yeah," Young said. "Yeah, probably."

They stood in silence for a moment.

"So that's what you wanted to tell me?" Young asked. "That Rush doesn't think we can do this?"

"No," it said, shaking its head, Emily's hair falling about its face. "I wanted to tell you that you're hurting him."

Young shut his eyes, trying not to think of their fight in the control interface room and failing miserably. "As in," Young paused, searching for the right term. "Emotionally?"

"Perhaps," it replied, narrowing its eyes, "though that is difficult for me to assess. You are hurting him _physically_. He is not _meant_ to fight the ship. Every time he is required to do, it becomes more difficult for him. It will eventually be _impossible_. His link to Destiny is very strong. His link with _you_ is already growing weaker. If he joins with the ship permanently—" it broke off. "It is not an optimal outcome, and it will result in his death."

"Does he know this?"

"Yes."

"Then why didn't he tell me?" Young sighed, rubbing his jaw.

"He does not wish to appear weak."

"Like I would ever think that he was _weak_, for god's sake," Young murmured, more to himself than to Emily.

"All right," he said, looking up at the ceiling, gathering his resolve. "I'll take down the block and keep it down. As much as I can. As much as he'll let me."

When he looked back over to where she had been standing, she was gone.

Still watching the smear of stars, he slowly lowered the block.

Rush was on a gurney, his feet elevated and encased in a complicated pattern of icepacks and tape that was clearly TJ's doing. Across from him, on a second gurney, Chloe was talking quietly to Lieutenant Scott on a radio, the volume turned so far down that Rush could barely hear Scott's replies.

/Bored so soon?/ Rush asked. Young could immediately tell that the scientist was exhausted. The question had only a fraction of his usual bite, and his mental projection was wavering in intensity.

/A bit,/ he lied, not really sure what to say to the other man.

They were quiet for a moment.

Young decided that _mental_ awkward silences were infinitely worse than _actual_ awkward silences.

"No," Chloe whispered on the adjacent gurney, "no, not really. At least I have company."

Rush shot her an exasperated look.

/Look,/ Young said. /For what it's worth, I'm sorry./

/Why?/ Rush asked him the word carrying overtones of exhaustion, resignation, bitterness, and, incredibly, _amusement_. /I'd have done the same thing. I didn't think you had it in you./

Young clamped down hard on the surge of irritation that comment produced.

/I'm thinking that maybe we need to work on our conflict mediation skills./ Young replied.

/Surely you jest./

/You really should not have had to do what you did./ A quick image of Rush pressing his full weight into his injured foot rose to the surface of his mind. He tried to suppress it, but he could tell by the sudden flash of interest from the scientist that he had seen it.

/Disturbing,/ Rush agreed, as if it had been someone else on the floor of the control interface room. /It didn't hurt. Or rather it _did_, but it was difficult to feel it./

/If you're trying to make me feel better, it's not working./

Rush shrugged minutely. /I can't say I'm particularly inclined to concern myself with your emotional state on a minute to minute basis./ Rush replied.

/Good,/ Young said, absently rubbing at his knee. /Let's keep it that way./

/You will get no argument from me,/ Rush replied dryly.

/So, you got TJ to take a look at your foot?/

/Yes,/ Rush said absently, /it's fine./

/I really don't see how you're getting 'fine' out of any of this. What did TJ actually say?/

/She advised against a repeat performance,/ Rush said. /She had to reset the bone./

/God./ Young could not control the flare of guilt that Rush's statement produced.

/Oh stop,/ Rush said wearily. /That's not productive./

Young sighed. /You're exhausted. You should—/ he broke off, changing his approach. /Why aren't you sleeping?/

/I can't./

/Why can't you?/

/Watch./

Young felt Rush slowly ease up on the stranglehold he had on his own consciousness. The scientist was so tired he fell asleep with alarming rapidity. Or he would have, if his mind hadn't abruptly been yanked out and away from Young, who _barely_ managed to hold him in place.

/You couldn't have just _explained_ it to me?/ Young asked, his heart pounding against his ribs. /With _words_?/

Rush shrugged minutely.

/So you can't even _sleep_ anymore?/

/Separating so you could go to the planet was, perhaps, less than advisable,/ Rush said unevenly. /Everything seems more difficult now./

/Yeah,/ Young said. /But we can fix it./

/Possibly./

/One step at a time,/ Young said. /Go to sleep already. I won't let you get pulled in./

Young had been prepared for an argument, but instead he got a tired assent and the brief feeling of falling before Rush's dreamscape exploded into his consciousness. It was an almost unintelligible stream of numbers and images, some of which were familiar, some clearly alien. After a few moments he was able to pull back somewhat, letting Rush's mind fade to the background while the observation deck came back into focus.

That, he reflected, had gone better than he'd expected.

Young sat for a few more moments on the observation deck, resting his knee, which, between the rocky descent on the planet and the long hours afterward, had fared pretty well. He rolled his the leg of his fatigues up, and carefully unwrapped TJ's bandaging job. Her second set of stitches was holding and the skin was beginning to knit delicately together. He re-bandaged the injury and stood, rubbing absently at his aching wrists and forearms.

It was a good sign, he supposed, that some of Rush's pain had come back to him.

He walked back to his quarters, feeling his own exhaustion a bit more with each step. While he had been blocking Rush out, he hadn't had to deal with fighting the pull of the ship on the other man; but now, with Rush asleep and not helping, Young was feeling the constant low level energy drain more and more.

He hoped that _he_ would be able to sleep without losing Rush to the ship, but since he didn't seem to need to actively focus to keep Rush where he was supposed to be—it seemed reasonable to assume he was free to get some rest.

He showered and undressed slowly, brushing the last of the fine red dust from his uniform as he did so.

* * *

><p>That night, he dreamed of David Telford.<p>

_He stands in a large room that is not of human design. _

_It melds goa'uld and Ancient aesthetics in a manner that is somehow uncomfortable to look at. Above him, the walls fade away into darkness. The minimal light that emanates from active screens is barely enough to throw the floorspace into relief. His boots echo hollowly with each step he takes._

_"Magnificent, isn't it?" David asks. "This is where he succeeded."_

_He doesn't reply. _

_He finds the room unsettling, at best. _

_He pushes his hair out of his eyes and looks over at Amanda Perry, who is staring at him with an unreadable expression on her face. It might be fear._

_"Don't do this," she whispers to him, too quietly for David to hear. "Please."_

_"We talked about this," he replies just as quietly. "We agreed. There's no other way."_

_"But now that I'm here, I've changed my mind. This is wrong. There's something about this place that's been twisted. This isn't our legacy to continue. It shouldn't be." Her words are rapid and breathless, her eyes follow David, who circles back toward them, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous space._

_"I know that." He reaches forward, his hand closing around the delicate bones of her wrist. "It will be all right." _

_"It won't," she whispers._

_"Mandy—"_

_"What are you talking about?" David asks mildly, coming back into view as he rounds a bank of monitors._

_"Dr. Perry needs to be beamed out," he replies smoothly. "She's not feeling well."_

_David nods and pulls out his radio to make the call. _

_He looks back at Mandy but she shakes her head fractionally. "You shouldn't be alone down here," she mouths silently. "Don't send me away."_

_"You shouldn't have to see this," he murmurs, leaning in. "It may be—upsetting."_

_She shakes her head, but before she can comment further, she is beamed away._

_He looks over at David._

_"It's probably better this way," the other man says. "I never understood why you wanted her along in the first place. With all that—" he makes a sweeping motion indicating a wheelchair, "She's a liability."_

_"She's brilliant," he replies. "That's never a liability."_

_"If you say so," David gives him a fixed gaze from beneath lowered brows. "Let's get going, so you can—get back."_

_He had already made the necessary modifications. There is nothing left to do but to attempt it._

_He walks over to the edge of a pale, rectangular depression in the floor where the faintest sheen of liquid glimmers in the dim light. He kneels, feeling his muscles knot with tension as he unlaces his boots quietly, competently._

_"Nerves of steel, that's what you've got," David says. "I fucking love it. How did _you_ ever end up in _academia_?"_

_He resists the urge to roll his eyes. _

_"What a waste," the other man says._

_He grimaces faintly. "I would hardly call it a waste." _

_He pulls off his socks and gets to his feet. The bottoms of his borrowed fatigues drag along the floor. _

_There is no point in delay. He steps carefully into the pool. The thin sheen of liquid turns out to be a watery gel. It clings to the bottoms of his feet and soaks the hems of his fatigues as he makes his way gingerly to stand in the center of the shallow depression._

_The gel is going to have excellent conductance properties._

_"Ready?" David asks him quietly._

_"Yes."_

_"You're sure you wouldn't rather try this on Dr. Perry?"_

_"You're a cold-hearted bastard, David."_

_"Takes one to know one, Nick." _

_David drops his shoulder and levers up a switch with all of his strength. _

_He looks away from David, gazing up, into the blackness, as he listens to the charge mount in concealed capacitors. _

_His heart pounds in his throat._

_He waits for—_

Young shot awake with a start, his own heart trying to escape his chest, his breathing coming in ragged, shallow gasps. He was soaked in a cold sweat, trapped in blankets. Shakily, he disentangled himself from his bedding and got to his feet, staggering toward the window.

He pressed his forehead against the cool surface and shut his eyes.

Halfway across the ship, in quarantine, Rush was still asleep, dreaming now of something else.

Of numbers and of doorways.

Of cyphered locks that would not open for him.

What he had just experienced had been no ordinary dream.

That had been a _memory_.

Young was sure of it.

Given their bitter enmity, Young had always suspected that Rush and Telford had some personal history, likely involving Rush doing something to piss Telford off, but this—well, _this_ was something else entirely—something extensive, something secret, and something Rush hadn't wanted to be a part of.

He shivered in the cool air.

He thought back to his time on Icarus, to attempt to place Rush's memory in some kind of context. He tried to think of a time when both Rush and Telford had been off the base, but he couldn't come up with one. Dr. Perry had never been on the Icarus planet at all. She had been stationed on _Earth_. What Young had just seen must have occurred earlier; likely it had been shortly after Rush had been recruited to the program, before the Icarus base was up and running.

Young rubbed his jaw, wondering what the _hell_ Telford and Rush had been working on.

Getting Rush to tell him about it would likely be difficult, as Young was going to have to explain not only _where_ he'd gotten his knowledge, but also overcome the fact that the scientist clearly did _not_ want to discuss the matter, seeing as neither Rush nor Telford had ever dropped even so much as a hint of the project in the _entire_ time Young known either of them.

This did not sit right with Young.

Between Telford's fixation on Rush, the scientist's clear dislike for Telford, and the fact that they had an extensive, secret professional relationship prior to arriving at the Icarus base combined to make Young extremely uneasy, especially given the fact that Telford seemed to be behind the push to swap Rush out on the stones.

After another sleepless half hour, his churning thoughts hadn't gotten him very far.

Only two things seemed clear. One, he was going to have to tell Rush about Telford's plan to yank him back to Earth, and get his opinion on whether or not Chloe should be sent to talk to the IOA in an attempt to forestall their efforts. Two, before he talked with Rush, he wanted to talk to Camile Wray, as she might be able to shed some light on Rush's history at the SGC.

Having decided on a preliminary course of action, he returned to bed. Though he didn't expect sleep to come easily, his exhaustion soon put him under.

* * *

><p>He didn't wake until his alarm sounded the next morning at seven hundred hours.<p>

He was about to call TJ to check in on Chloe and Rush, but it was immediately apparent via their link that Rush had already been released from the infirmary. He was sitting with his feet hooked over the edge of an adjacent chair in the control interface room, working again on Destiny's shield harmonics.

/TJ released you?/ Young asked by way of greeting.

/Less than an hour ago,/ Rush responded absently, tapping a pen against the pages of his well-worn notebook.

/You and Chloe are both clear?/

/Chloe is still in the infirmary, but will likely be released shortly./

/But you're definitely clear?/

/That's generally a requirement for release from quarantine,/ Rush said evasively.

Young sighed.

/So when I go talk to TJ, she's going to have no problem with the fact that you're in the control interface room working on god knows what?/ he asked.

/Yes yes,/ Rush said impatiently, more than half his attention on the problem in front of him. /Go do—whatever it is that you do around here when you're not harassing the science staff./

Young rolled his eyes. /What's with the obsession with the shields, by the way?/ he asked. /You're always working on them./

Rush sighed, and Young got a brief flash of something—loneliness maybe—before Rush sent him a packet of information tailored so that he could understand it. It had been Eli who had first pointed out that the shield harmonics cycled in an unpredictable but nonrandom pattern when they were at FTL. Rush had been intrigued, and had spent the last several months recording data that he was now in the process of analyzing. He'd been through it with Eli and Chloe without much luck so far. Beneath the glimpses of memories that allowed him to put the narrative together, however, Young grasped something else—something tonal, something _musical_ that Rush associated with the shields.

/Music?/ Young sent in puzzlement.

Rush dropped his pen. It clattered to the floor.

/?/

/Why do you think about music when you think about the shields?/

/I didn't intend for you to pick that up. It's probably nothing, it's just—/ Rush broke off, shattering his thoughts into multiple parallel streams, trying to keep Young out.

This time, it didn't work.

/You can hear them,/ Young realized. /The shields. You literally hear them./

Rush shifted slightly, clearly uncomfortable, though Young wasn't sure why he would be. /I think that's how Destiny communicates with the seed ships, amongst other things,/ he said finally.

/What about the obelisk planet?/ Young asked. /Could you hear the buried ship?/

/No,/ Rush said shortly. /I hear only Destiny./

/What does it sound like?/

/I don't wish to discuss it,/ Rush snapped, but the answer to Young's question ran like a current through his reply.

Sad.

To Rush, the ship sounded unhappy.

That hadn't been what Young had meant when he'd asked the question.

He really wasn't sure how to respond, so he withdrew gently from Rush's mind, letting his own quarters come back into focus. He dressed quickly and made his way down to the mess, hoping to find Wray still there. She was normally an early riser, and 07:15 was on the late side to find her still at breakfast. Luck, however was with him.

"Camile," he said, as he noticed her about to get up. "Do you have a minute?"

She gestured for him to sit, giving him a cautious nod. "Colonel," she said in greeting. "What can I do for you?"

The briefest mental touch showed the scientist still absorbed in the shield harmonics data.

"We need to discuss Rush."

"Rush?" Wray repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Does he have any particular history with Colonel Telford that I should be aware of?"

"Colonel Telford?" she asked, her voice abruptly acquiring a quiet intensity. "Why do you ask?"

"McKay mentioned something to me," he lied easily, "When we called him in for help with the chair. Look, if Homeworld Command is successful in their attempt to dial in, I need to know if Telford has it in for Rush. Or vice versa. Their interactions seem—adversarial."

"Please tell me you see the irony in that assessment." She gave him a pointed look.

"I get it," he said dryly. "I do. But it's a serious question."

She glanced around the room.

"Rush and Telford _do_ have a history," she told him, her voice nearly a whisper. "During the time Telford was with the Lucian Alliance, he came into possession of either some intelligence or an actual piece of technology that required the highest level of security clearance. Even the IOA wasn't informed of the details. Telford was given his pick of personnel and resources, including access to the Daedalus when he needed it."

She paused and Young jumped in. "But Rush was recruited directly to the Icarus project by Dr. Jackson."

She shot him a guarded look. "He was. Supposedly. But—Telford made a bid for him at nearly the same time. General Landry forced Rush to split his time in order to keep Icarus. Rush wasn't happy about it, and neither was Dr. Jackson. Dr. Jackson filed a formal complaint with me, but it was sparse on details. Telford's project was highly classified. I don't think it even had a name." Wray paused and then added, "none of this was widely known."

"How is a project's lead scientist supposed to split his time?" Young asked.

"There are some indications that the two projects were related. The heavy involvement of Telford, Rush, and Jackson in both suggests it."

"So any indication as to what this other project was?" Young asked.

"No," she said quietly, "but it was scrapped four or five months before we gated to Destiny. Rush was finally allowed to stay full time at the Icarus base. Something happened to put Rush in a position to get what he wanted—I'm not sure what it was, their association ended with an incident off world that nearly killed both of them."

Young raised his eyebrows, inviting her to continue.

"I read the hospital discharge summaries. Telford had third degree burns down his right arm and flash blindness."

"And Rush?"

"He was unresponsive for six days," she said, "but uninjured."

"And that's when the project was scrapped?" Young asked.

"Yes. Rush finally regained consciousness and petitioned General O'Neill to send him straight to Icarus. He went directly from the hospital through the stargate, refusing to wait to speak with Telford. As far as I know, they didn't see each other again until you turned down command of the Icarus project and it was offered to Telford. Over Rush's vehement objections."

"Any idea what happened between them personally?" Young asked.

Wray shook her head. "They were very close in the beginning, up until around the time that Rush lost his wife. Then it fell apart very quickly. There were all the usual ugly rumors, but nothing substantiated."

"Rumors?" Young asked, eyebrows raised marginally.

"That they were sleeping together. Personally, I don't believe it—Rush doesn't strike me as the type to do that sort of thing."

Young's eyes narrowed. "Unless it would get him something he wanted."

Wray shot him a sharp look. "He's quite capable of getting what he wants without resorting to any such tactics, as we both well know."

"You're probably right," Young replied.

It was time to cut this conversation off before Rush noticed what he was talking about. The more upset Young became, the more likely the other man would realize what was taking place.

He stood abruptly.

Wray looked up at him, startled.

"Thanks," he said quietly. He handed his now empty bowl to Becker, and made straight for Lt. Scott's civilian boot camp. He needed a few minutes to clear his head before he took the problem with the communications stones to Rush.

There was nothing better for that than a run through Destiny's long, dark corridors.

Rush and Telford.

God, what a pair.

"Colonel," Lieutenant Scott said by way of greeting, as he rounded the corner into the space where three corridors converged that was the meeting point for long, ship-wide runs. "Are you joining us?"

"If my knee holds up," Young replied ruefully.

Scott nodded, and they set off at a steady pace, maybe a nine-minute mile, by Young's estimation.

Rush and Telford.

Ugh.

He could understand how the two of them might have hit it off. Rush approached everything with a blazing, single-minded intensity that would certainly appeal to Telford, who had that same streak, but who went to some lengths to bury it beneath a professional veneer. The problem was that as soon as they found themselves on opposite sides of anything—well, the fallout would be unbelievable. Telford was inflexible and preferred a command style that Rush would either exploit for his own purposes or tear himself apart to oppose.

Unbidden, the image of Rush, kneeling on the floor of the control interface room, hands braced against the deck plating as he drove his weight onto his left foot—

And _that_ was exactly the kind of thought that he did _not_ need right now.

He tried to focus on the pain in his knee, which had finally faded to a more manageable ache despite the poor treatment of the previous day. He was able to settle into a rhythm and stay with it for a good two and a half miles before his knee really started to give him hell. Around him, some of the civilians were beginning to flag.

"Come on, people," Scott called from his position on point. "Keep it up."

/So,/ Rush said acidly, surprising Young with his sudden attention, /you _literally_ run aimlessly around the ship when you're not harassing the science team? I wish I could claim to be surprised, but unfortunately that's not the case./

/Fitness is important,/ Young replied. /What do you want?/

/I was just curious as to what the _fuck_ you were doing to your knee./

/Is this bothering you? I can partially block you out if you want./

/I don't care,/ Rush snapped at him. /Do what you want./ The scientist's thoughts were an incomprehensible, agitated swirl beneath his projection.

Okay, so—definitely bothering him then.

Young rolled his eyes and slowed to a walk, breaking off from the main running group. He felt a brief flare of surprise from Rush, colored by something else that he didn't catch. /We need to talk,/ Young said cautiously.

/If it were up to you, we wouldn't do anything else,/ Rush said, wryly. /Regarding?/

/I'd rather do it face to face,/ Young said, careful not to let anything slip. /When's good for you?/ Again, he got a brief sense of surprise from the other man, which was quickly suppressed.

/Forty minutes or so,/ Rush replied.

/Let' me know when you're free and I'll come find you,/ Young said. /My schedule is pretty clear this morning./

/Obviously,/ Rush commented dryly before withdrawing to go back to his analysis.

Young took a quick shower and then headed toward the infirmary, intending to talk to TJ about the events of the previous day, hoping for an update on the nature of the virus she had discovered in the ship's filter system, and whether their quarantine and subsequent decon protocols had eliminated the threat entirely.

Young had just passed the mess when the first wave of pain struck him like a screwdriver to the skull.

He staggered sideways, fingers catching numbly on one of the metal ribs that lined Destiny's hallways.

He couldn't see.

His vision was darkening, splitting, trying to resolve into something else.

It lasted for a few more seconds and then faded, leaving a horrible disorientation behind.

He realized he was on the floor.

Someone was kneeling beside him. "TJ, this is James. We have a medical emergency in the corridor outside the mess. It's the colonel."

"On my way," TJ's voice crackled over the radio, tight with anxiety.

In the back of Young's mind, the control interface room snapped into crisp focus. /What the fuck was _that_?/ Rush asked. He pushed himself to his feet, grabbed his crutches, and headed toward the door.

/I thought that was _you_,/ Young projected back weakly.

/Definitely not,/ Rush replied. The scientist was pouring his own energy into their link, helping Young force himself up onto his elbows, helping him order his thoughts.

"Sir, you shouldn't move," James said, pushing him back down. Greer and Wray had joined her.

"Colonel Young," Wray said, gently, "can you talk to me?"

He had a hard time focusing on her, and when his vision finally cooperated, he saw four people kneeling next to him. James, Wray, Greer, and, not Emily this time, but _Gloria_.

"What's happening?" Young directed his question toward the AI.

"Colonel, you just collapsed," Wray responded. "Lie still. Help is on the way."

The AI looked down at him, fear evident in Gloria's eyes. "I don't know," it whispered. "But I can only protect _his_ mind. Not yours."

Rush wasn't communicating with Young in words, but he felt the other man's anxiety peak to almost unbearable levels at Gloria's comment.

A second wave of pain hit him and this time his vision split again, something else superimposing itself on his field of view. The lines and angles he saw looked familiar, but he couldn't process them into a defined image.

In the back of his mind he heard the clatter as Rush dropped his crutches and sank into a crouch, kneeling against the deck plating, pressing down against his left foot, trying to keep them _both_ grounded.

It wasn't going to work.

Rush wasn't meant to be the anchor.

As Young was pulled away, Rush was required to resist the ship more and more with each passing second.

/You have to _let go._/ Young barely had the strength to project.

/No./

Rush's vision was fading. The scientist he could barely feel anything. The only thing left holding him to his body was the remote sense of pain from his foot.

Distantly, through what remained of their link, Young heard the harmonies of Destiny's shields.

/Let go,/ Young whispered, /you're tearing your mind apart./

/I won't./

A third wave of pain hit Young, and this time, they couldn't fight it.

* * *

><p>He he opened his eyes, gasping.<p>

The pain was gone.

So was Destiny.

He was sitting in an office, staring into the face of Samantha Carter.

He didn't need to look down at his uniform to know whose body he was in.

"Doctor Rush?" Carter asked, the words hesitant, apologetic.

"Not exactly," Young growled.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

* * *

><p>It took Young several seconds to adjust to being completely alone in his own mind.<p>

Previously, when he had blocked Rush out of his thoughts, he had felt the man as a constant pressure against his mental shielding, but now—there was nothing, just a void, a horrifying emptiness where the scientist had been.

He felt like a part of him had been torn away.

He tried to stand and realized he was currently _restrained_.

Velcro.

How humane.

How reasonable.

Young's eyes swept the room.

Two guards stood in the doorway behind Carter, their hands casually resting on their rifles. Flanking her were two individuals in suits, one whom he recognized as Richard Woolsey.

He couldn't see the terminal with the stones. He assumed it was on the table behind him.

Next to Young, bound in chairs, were four people, likely all from Destiny's crew. As his gaze passed over them, one of them met his eye, giving him a significant look and a fractional nod.

Greer.

Damn it.

He flexed his forearms against his restraints, trying not to betray even a flicker of dismay.

If he could have chosen _anyone_ from the crew to remain on Destiny in this situation, it would have been Greer. The sergeant had no particular love for Rush, but when forced to choose between the scientist and _Telford_—Young was certain that Greer would back Rush every time.

It was likely that Telford had come to the same conclusion.

Based on the nervous glances he was getting from the man and woman sitting next to Greer, he guessed that he also had Chloe and Eli with him.

"Excuse me?" Carter said, her tone sharper now. "If you're not Dr. Rush, then who are you?"

He looked left to see another woman sitting beside him.

"Wray," she mouthed silently.

"Colonel Young," he growled at Carter.

Carter's eyebrows drew together. "Colonel Young? Can I have your authorization code as confirmation?"

He gave her his code while he zeroed in on his priorities.

There was no way that Rush would be able to hold out for long, if at all, against Destiny. Young wished he had asked the scientist a bit more about what happened, exactly, when he joined with the ship, but it was clear that Rush still had at least some agency and might be able to act to their advantage. It stood to reason, therefore, that shortly, Rush might drop the ship out of FTL, at which point Young would have about twenty seconds to talk to TJ—the only person still on the ship who had any idea what was going on.

"Colonel," Carter said by way of greeting, her expression unhappy. "I'm really sorry about this. I understand that this situation is far from ideal, and—"

"You're _sorry_?" Young growled, locking eyes with her. "Gross ethical violations aside, you've compromised the safety of my ship, you've put members of my crew in danger, using an untested technology that nearly _killed_ me by the way, and you've replaced four of my key personnel with soldiers unequipped to deal with the challenges they're going to face on Destiny, and you're '_sorry'_? You'll forgive me, ma'am, if I fail to give a damn about that."

Carter looked at him, her posture open and unflinching. "They only have authorization for one hour," she said quietly. "Not everyone agrees with this plan."

She was putting up a dutiful front, but she was also giving him an indication that she might be a potential ally.

"What's your mission objective?" he snapped.

"The primary objective was for McKay and I to talk with Rush. The secondary objective is for Telford's science team to study Destiny's power distribution system."

"Well your primary objective is shot to hell," Young said, "and I'm sure Eli can tell you all you need to know about the power distribution system, after he gets an apology for having his consciousness forcibly removed from his body. You need to send me back. Immediately."

"Colonel," Carter said, raising her hands, "it's not—"

And then, with an abruptness that was shocking despite his readiness, he was back on Destiny, standing in front of TJ, James, and Greer. TJ was staring at him in alarm, hands outstretched. She was barely visible in the dim emergency lighting that now illuminated the corridors.

"—significant neurological event and—" TJ broke off as she registered the drop out of FTL. She looked at Young in sudden expectation.

"Yeah," Young confirmed, "it's me."

He had, maybe, thirty seconds. Probably it would be less.

Young pulled his weapon and handed it to her. "Find Rush," he said quickly, stepping in close. "You're the only one on board who knows what's going on. You have to find Rush, and you have to prevent Telford from getting to him—from _touching _him at all costs."

Without being told, Greer pulled his own weapon and handed it to James.

"_Whatever_ it takes, TJ, do you understand what I'm saying?"

She nodded.

"He's somewhere near the control interface room. Take James. Go. Run."

They took off down the hallway.

Young turned and started walking rapidly in the opposite direction as he pulled out his radio. "Bridge, report," he snapped.

"We've got power failures all over the ship." It was Brody who responded. "Everything's either shutting down or already dead. We've lost shields and weapons, we just dropped out of FTL, and we're going to lose life support."

Young looked up as the emergency lights flickered, plunging them briefly into total darkness.

"I don't know what's happening," Brody said. "Rush isn't answering his radio. Neither is Eli."

Young couldn't feel even a hint of Rush anywhere in his mind, but he blocked anyway, hoping that Telford wouldn't be able to overcome it, hoping that the other man wouldn't even guess that there _was_ a link.

Time was nearly up.

It had to be.

Young met Greer's eyes.

"Shit," the other man said, just as Young's vision began to fade.

With a visual and mental blurring, he found himself back in the SGC, looking at Carter, breaking off a sentence he didn't remember beginning. He flexed his wrists against the restraints.

Carter was staring at him, apparently aware that something had just taken place.

"Colonel Young?" she asked.

"Yes. Power is down all over the ship. No shields. No weapons. No _life support_. Odds are? This is a _direct_ _result_ of the stunt you just pulled."

Carter's expression was pained.

"That seems unlikely." Woolsey spoke up for the first time. "You've been using the stones continuously from day one. Why the sudden problems now? It seems terribly convenient."

Young didn't respond immediately. He wasn't entirely sure how to answer without giving away more information than he was prepared to part with. Eli, however, stepped in.

"The ship is _sentient_," Eli said, looking Woolsey. "It _knows_ what just happened. It doesn't like its personnel being kidnapped. Consciousness-napped."

"Why," Carter asked quietly, "when we tried to lock onto Rush's signal, did we pull _you_ out instead?"

Young met her gaze impassively.

"If you tell me," she said quietly, "I may be able to help you."

"How?" Young asked.

"I'll take it up the chain," she replied, glancing at the IOA members. Woolsey and his associate shot her disapproving looks, but said nothing.

Carter kept her eyes fixed on Young. She gave him a subtle nod, a gentle lift of her eyebrows.

Young chewed the inside of his lip, considering.

He trusted her by reputation.

He definitely trusted Jack O'Neill.

The person he didn't trust, _at all,_ in this situation was Telford.

It was unbelievable to Young that the man had kept his position as the de facto Earth-based leader of the Icarus project, despite Rush having _successfully proven_ that the man had been the Lucian Alliance mole that betrayed the project's location.

If that wasn't egregious enough to at least get Telford reassigned, then Young certainly didn't have a _chance_ at getting him dismissed.

Telford either had a powerful backer within the administration or he was important for some other reason.

Either way, Young knew that there was basically zero chance of getting rid of the other man as the military liaison between Destiny and the upper echelons of Homeworld Command.

He did _not_ want Telford or the IOA knowing _anything_ about the connection between Rush and Destiny.

Carter was still watching him, waiting for his answer.

"Eli is correct," Young said slowly. "We recently discovered a sophisticated AI at the heart of Destiny's mainframe. It's interacted with several members of the crew, but—most intensively with Rush."

Carter raised her eyebrows.

"I don't know for sure," Young said, "but I would guess that it was the AI who was able to interfere with your workaround for the terminal. As for why _I_ was pulled out instead," Young fixed Carter with a brief, intense stare, "I can only guess that it has something to do with the fact that I was the person who extracted Rush from the control interface chair. McKay," he said pausing again, "may be able to put together what happened, based on his experience on Destiny."

"I'll talk to him," Carter replied.

"I am positive," Young continued, "that you're _never_ going to be able to pull Rush out. That would make your workaround for the communication stones a failure. Furthermore, even though you _can_ pull other people out, the AI clearly doesn't like it. Bottom line," he said, raising his eyebrows, "it's time you sent us back—before we can't dig ourselves out of this hole that you've shoved us into."

Carter looked at her watch. "It's been five minutes," she said. "We should be getting a report back from one of our scientists to confirm that everything is going according to plan in another five."

Young grimaced.

Ten minutes was _too long_.

He felt it in his gut.

Life support on Destiny was failing.

_Life support_ was _failing_.

What did that mean?

Young couldn't see Rush allowing such a thing to happen if he could do anything to prevent it.

The man was _already_ a mess. Whatever happened, the repercussions from this were going to be horrific.

Young spent the remaining five minutes trying to come up with a plan by which he could destroy the terminal if it came to that. It was primarily a mental exercise, however, since such a plan carried the risk of stranding him permanently in Telford's body and trapping the other man with Rush indefinitely.

That was not an acceptable option.

"Okay," Carter said, finally. "We're due for a report." She stood.

"Greer," Young said quietly before she could step around him to the device in the back of the room. "Greer or Eli." He looked up at her. "Please."

"That's not for you to decide—" Woolsey began, but Carter cut him off by stepping forward and edging around Young.

The man whom Eli had switched with gasped suddenly, jolting against his restraints.

"Report," Carter snapped at him.

"Main power is down," he said, blinking rapidly. "The backups just went down as well. We—_they_ have literally no shielding. No lights. It's pitch black. Colonel Telford is convinced that Rush is behind this somehow, because he and two of Colonel Young's personnel have locked themselves in the infirmary. They're refusing to let anyone in."

Young entertained the brief hope that Rush might still be conscious.

Upon reflection, however, he realized that TJ had most likely managed to give that impression to Telford's people, without it actually being true.

"Could Rush be staging this to force our hand?" Woolsey asked sharply. "It wouldn't be the first time he's attempted something like this. Can he control main power from within the infirmary?"

"No," Young said quickly, "he can't."

In actuality, it was very likely that Rush could control main power from _anywhere_.

"If the situation is so dire, why isn't he helping to restore power?" Woolsey asked.

"So you're getting _no data_?" Carter asked the airman sharply.

"No," he replied. "None."

"What is Colonel Telford doing?"

"He's trying to break into the infirmary to talk with Dr. Rush."

Carter came forward and released the young man from his bonds with a quick, "you're dismissed. Debriefing in fifty minutes."

Young exhaled slowly, trying not to show any visible sign of relief. Eli was back on the ship, and it looked like Carter wasn't going to pull him back. Maybe he would be able to make some progress—at least restore life support or shields.

"Send us back," Young said quietly. "Send all of us back and destroy the workaround."

Carter looked down at him, obviously torn.

"You're putting the entire crew at risk."

"It looks that way," Carter said, "but—it's looked that way before." She glanced at Woolsey and his associate. "Given Dr. Rush's history of manipulating Earth-based science teams sent to Destiny, I have specific instructions to confirm the veracity of any reported threats."

Young had opened his mouth to respond when Wray answered instead.

"Yes," she said, and even though the voice was not her own, she managed to lace it with her unmistakable equanimity. "You need something to give your superiors. Unfortunately, incontrovertible evidence of a demonstrable threat to human life usually takes a form that I'm sure we would all prefer to avoid."

Carter's gaze shifted to Wray.

"Perhaps you could instead take them a _reminder_." Wray's tone turned icy.

"A reminder?" Carter echoed.

"Homeworld Command _owes_ Dr. Rush." Her voice was cool and collected. "Something—unfortunate happened to him. Something that wasn't his fault."

If Young hadn't worked so closely with Wray, if he hadn't faced her down time and again, he wouldn't have known that she was taking a terrible risk, playing a hunch that Carter would have some knowledge about the incident involving Rush and Telford, playing a hunch that such knowledge would, in this situation, carry any weight at all.

"The Air Force might find itself in an uncomfortable position should an internal review panel be called to consider that incident," Wray said.

Carter looked at Wray, her expression lightening almost imperceptibly. "Let me make a call."

"Do what you need to do," Young said, "but hurry."

After Carter left the room, Wray looked over at him.

Young gave her a quick nod, trying to put something of the relief he was feeling into his expression.

Wray's eyes shifted to Greer, and Young looked over, following her gaze.

Greer glanced at the table behind Young, and then back, clearly asking if Young wanted to make some kind of move to gain access to the terminal.

Young shook his head.

He chewed the inside of his lip, ignoring the hostile gazes of the two IOA members still left in the room.

He watched Wray's fingernails tear tiny crescents in the upholstery of her chair.

He tried to figure out how the _hell_ he was going to explain this Rush.

Hopefully he would get the chance.

Finally, after nearly eleven minutes, Carter burst back into the room.

"Okay," she said. "This comes from the top. And I mean the _very _top. We're sending you back, but you're going to have to meet with Telford tomorrow for a debriefing, and Rush is going to have to cooperate with McKay and I for a feasibility assessment. I need your word on that."

"You've got it," Young said quickly, "if both the feasibility assessment and the meeting tomorrow can happen on Destiny, and I get _your _word that you don't pull me out again."

"Done," Carter said, already walking toward the device on the table behind him.

"Thank you," Young murmured.

"Don't," Carter whispered as she passed, her voice betraying unhappiness for the first time. "Don't thank me."

He heard the click of a flipping switch, and then—

* * *

><p>It was dark.<p>

He stumbled, disoriented, his eyes caught and held by the shifting, focused beam of light that projected from a flashlight he had in his hand.

Greer was beside him.

Chloe and Wray were not.

Young assumed that he and Greer had ended up outside the infirmary. A few quick sweeps from his flashlight up and down the hall confirmed it.

"Well, _this_ doesn't look good," Greer said.

"Nope. Not really," Young replied, trying to reach Rush's mind and failing.

He pulled out his radio. "TJ?" he murmured, depressing the button. "It's me. Telford's gone."

"I'm going to need some confirmation," she replied evenly.

"Okay," he said, "sounds reasonable."

He tried to think of something that would convince her—something that he would know, but Telford wouldn't.

It seemed like there should be so many of those things.

He could only come up with one.

Young turned away from Greer and walked a few paces away from the door.

"Carmen," he said gently.

She didn't reply, but he and Greer heard the shriek of metal on metal. Someone on the other side of the infirmary doors was using something to pry them apart. After a few seconds, a crack appeared between the doors.

Young and Greer stepped forward, helping as much as they could, getting first fingers, then hands, and, finally, shoulders inside the doorway to lever it open.

James was waiting for them on the other side. Young's flashlight caught the wisps of her hair.

"Telford never got through," James said quietly. "We were with him the whole time."

Young clapped her on the shoulder, wishing that he felt relieved by her news.

"Good work, lieutenant. The two of you get up to crew quarters. I want everyone accounted for. No one should be wandering around alone in this kind of dark. Coordinate with Lieutenant Scott and report back over the radio in twenty minutes."

They gave him identical nods, swallowing the questions he was certain they had.

He had no illusions he was going to be so lucky with TJ.

He couldn't see her at first, as he advanced through the darkness, running his flashlight in broad, semicircular sweeps. Finally, the beam caught the pale flash of metal-lined holes where her bootlaces passed through black leather. She was in the back of the infirmary, quietly perched on the edge of a gurney, his handgun held ready, resting against her left shoulder.

"Hey," she said, clicking on her own light.

He squinted uncomfortably in the glare.

She set the flashlight down on a table to her right, letting diffuse light from the focused beam illuminate the space between them.

"Where is he?" Young asked her, trying not to betray the urgency he felt.

"He's here," she replied. The words were careful. Measured. She didn't move.

"TJ," he said quietly, hands held up instinctively. "It really _is_ me."

"I know. I can tell. I've always been able to tell."

"I need to see him."

She didn't respond right away.

Young wished that he could get a good look at her face.

"He re-injured his foot," TJ said quietly. "That's the second time."

The silence lengthened between them.

"The _first_ time," she continued, "was yesterday, right before he fixed the FTL drive."

"What are you getting at, TJ?"

He was pretty sure he knew _exactly_ what she was getting at.

"You had an argument," she replied. "Eli told me."

Young wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he said nothing.

"I asked him, yesterday," TJ said quietly, "why he tore open his foot. He wouldn't tell me. At the time, I thought it might be out of spite. To hurt you, by hurting himself. But now, I'm not so sure."

"TJ—"

"I've been asking myself," she broke in, "for the past twenty five minutes while I sat here, with him, in the dark, why you would tell me to protect him from Telford. To protect him from Telford _at all costs_. To prevent Telford from so much as even _touching _him?"

Young stayed silent.

"And now, to fix Destiny, to bring him back, you need to—what? To touch him? To do the _same thing_ that you were trying to prevent Telford from doing?" She paused, her face still shrouded in darkness. "Does he have any defense against you? Any at all?"

"No," Young admitted. "He never has. He still doesn't."

"You told me you could _block the link_," TJ said grimly.

"I can," Young said, "but he can't."

"So how are _you_ any better than Telford?" she asked.

"I guess I don't know that I am," he replied, "but what choice do we have? If I do nothing, he's not going to make it. And neither are the rest of us."

TJ sighed. "He must hate this."

"He does," Young answered. "He fights it all the time."

He still couldn't see her face in the darkness, but he could see a softening in the set of her shoulders, in the line of her neck. He wasn't sure what had caused the change in her stance—maybe it was resignation, or maybe relief that he was finally being honest with her. "Why didn't you tell me?" she finally asked.

"We still don't fully understand it ourselves."

"I can't help either of you if you don't tell me what's happening."

"I know. I know that."

She was quiet, and he tried again, barely able to contain the intolerable sense of urgency that had been building for the past half hour. "TJ, I _really_ need to—"

"Yeah," she said quietly. "He's right here." She stood, reaching over to rotate her flashlight toward the wall behind her. In the dim light, Young could see that Rush had been directly behind her the entire time, lying motionless on the same gurney she had been sitting on.

"We found him like this," TJ said quietly. "On the floor. Nonresponsive."

"Yeah," Young said, grimacing. "He's with the ship. I _hope_ he's with the ship."

"The ship is dead," she replied, her words delivered like a slap. "No power anywhere."

Young flinched, his eyes still fixed on Rush.

"So what's the plan?" she asked after a few seconds, her voice softer, nearly apologetic.

"I'm going to pull him out. Right now."

Young walked up to the edge of the gurney, looking down at the other man in the dim lighting. Though more often than not he wished that Rush would just _slow down_ and take a god damned _break_ for once in his life, he found that he hated seeing the scientist like this—so unnaturally still. There was nothing left of the contained energy that defined the other man.

Not wanting to waste any additional time, Young wrapped his right hand around the back of Rush's neck, threading his fingers through unruly hair, half-fanned over the pillow. He slid his left hand inside Rush's black military-issue jacket, across the man's thin undershirt to curl around his right shoulder.

He shut his eyes and opened their connection as wide as he could.

On the other side, there was nothing.

Not even the depthless darkness of the ship.

Not an echo of the shields.

Not so much as a hint of Rush.

Anywhere.

"Shit," Young gasped, tearing himself away from the other man, heart racing, airways constricting. "God _damn _it."

He turned away from Rush, away from TJ, and strode over to the wall in three quick steps. He leaned against it, one arm supporting him as he pressed into the metal.

This was his fault.

There was no getting around that.

He should have told Rush about the stones _immediately_, rather than relying on Eli.

Young had known about this plan for days.

For _days_.

The line of bad decisions that had lead to this moment was long, very long, and it traced back to the moment he had pulled Rush out of that god damned chair instead of asking TJ to do it.

The guilt that he felt about Rush's current status was put into perspective by the fact that he also had to contend with the very real possibility that they weren't going to get life support back online.

He would have to check with Eli to see which would be first—suffocation or freezing to death.

His left hand curled into a fist.

"Colonel?" TJ had come up behind him. As if her voice was the catalyst he'd been waiting for, he smashed his fist straight into the wall with a satisfyingly painful crack.

"Fuck," he breathed, pulling his hand into his chest.

Behind him, he heard TJ's breathing catch, then steady. He felt her hands on his shoulders.

"Feel better?" she asked quietly.

"No," he said roughly.

She tightened her fingers, inviting him to turn. "Let me see your hand."

"It's fine." He pressed his forehead against the metal of the wall, still unable to look at her.

"Try again," she murmured. "He's tough."

"No one's this tough," he replied.

"Try again," she repeated.

* * *

><p>He did try again.<p>

He tried for more than three hours, taking breaks to coordinate with the science team and with Scott and Wray, who had organized the civilians in the mess. He could only imagine what kinds of rumors were circulating regarding his very visible absence from—well, everywhere.

"Colonel Young, this is Eli," his radio crackled.

"Go ahead, Eli."

"Just wondering how it was going down there."

"Not well."

"Yeah," Eli said, drawing out the word. "It's not going well here either. But I had an idea. It's kind of a long shot, but I was wondering if I could come down there and talk to you. We kinda heard from Greer that the infirmary is off limits right now."

"You're clear to come down," Young said tiredly. "I'll take what I can get at this point."

It took Eli only a few minutes to reach the infirmary. The flashlight he was carrying announced his presence only slightly before he started talking.

"So it's really creepy to walk around this ship in the _pitch black_, have you noticed this? I'd give it maybe an seven on the creepiness scale, but only because—" Eli broke off abruptly.

Young twisted to look at him.

"Are you, um, holding Rush's _hand_?"

"Give me a break, Eli," Young said tiredly, "I'm trying to separate him from Destiny. It's easier this way."

"Right, no, I mean, that's totally reasonable. I get it. It's just kind of a weird visual, you know, with the mutual-assured-destruction-society that you guys have going on."

Young turned away, fighting down a wave of irritation. "You seem to be in an awfully good mood for someone with—what was Chloe's estimate? Fourteen hours of air left?" Young dropped his head into his free hand and massaged his temples. "You must have something."

"As a matter of fact, I _do_," Eli said. "So you may have noticed that despite the fact that we're being pretty relentlessly pursued by not one but _two_ alien races—we haven't had any trouble in the last three and a half hours."

"I assumed it was luck," Young said quietly.

"Seriously? You assumed that? No way are we that lucky."

"Can we get to the point here, Eli?"

"Yeah. Sorry. I think we haven't been attacked because we're not using any power. Not _any. _We look like piece of rock on sensors. Plus, there's also the fact that being completely without power turned out to be a great strategy for getting _Telford_ off Destiny and getting _you_ back."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that when you think about it, this is starting to look less like Destiny freaked out because Rush got messed up when you were pulled away, and more like a plan for putting everything back to normal."

"Except for the part where everyone dies by suffocation," Young said dryly. "Otherwise, yeah. Great plan."

"Yes, death is never a good time," Eli replied, equally dry, "but I don't think we're going to die. I think this was purposeful. We can't find any damage. Everything's just—off, and we can't restart it."

"Even if that's true," Young replied, "how does this help us? We need Rush to power everything up. Unfortunately, he's not available right now."

"I know," Eli said, "but I think maybe if we can restore even minimal power to the ship, we might get him back as well."

"So what's your idea?"

"We give it a jump." Eli looked at him, eyebrows raised, clearly expecting some kind of response to his statement.

"A jump?"

"You know, as in jump-starting a car? Destiny is, fundamentally, a piece of equipment and once it's off, it can't turn _itself_ back on. But I'm betting if we give it some power to start with, it will take it from there."

"Okay, I'll buy into this," Young said, feeling slightly hopeful for the first time in several hours. "What do you need?"

Eli shrugged, the movement barely visible in the darkness. "A laptop, fifteen minutes, Brody, and um—access to the neural interface?"

"The chair? You have got to be kidding me," Young said.

"I'm not going to _sit_ in it," Eli said hastily. "I'm just going to open the panel at the back, hook up my laptop battery and say 'hello, world'."

"All right," Young agreed. "I don't see that we have much choice. Radio when you're in position."

Eli stood to go, but paused. "Do you think he's going to be okay?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know, Eli." Young said, rubbing his jaw. "I really don't."

* * *

><p>Over the course of the next half-hour Young watched TJ take Rush's vitals, listened to the radio chatter, and deflected subtle requests for his presence in various locations all over the ship.<p>

When this was over, he knew he was going to have some explaining to do.

To a lot of different people.

"I hope you planned this," Young murmured, his hand closed around Rush's icy fingers. "I hope you are fucking _furious_ at me when you wake up."

Rush, of course, didn't reply.

Finally, Eli's voice came over the radio. "We're in position."

"You have a go," he said shortly, tightening his grip on Rush.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, Young's gaze involuntarily snapped upward as the emergency lighting flickered.

TJ burst out of her office, her expression tight, eyes scanning the walls, the ceiling.

Beneath the deck plating, he could feel the sudden vibration of the sublight engines.

He shot to his feet, again wrapping one hand around the back of Rush's neck, forcing their link open until finally, _finally_, Young could sense the other man's mind again.

It was distant, hardly more than an echo.

There was almost nothing to grab on to, but he did his best.

"Come on," he snarled. "Come _on_."

It still wasn't working.

Young grabbed his radio. "Eli," he snapped, "we need more power."

"You realize I'm using a _laptop_ battery to start up a _starship_ here, right?" Eli replied. "The backups are already on. We have shields. I think we might even get FTL in a few minutes. If you want full power—" Eli cut himself off and there was a brief pause. "Well, look. You know what we need for _full_ power. That's more your department than mine right now."

"Do what you can," Young replied.

"Any change?" TJ asked, coming to stand next to him.

"Some," Young replied, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. "I can feel his mind, but I can't wake him up. It's not enough. This should have _worked_."

TJ gave him a sharp look. "He's not a machine," she said, "even if he's connected to one. He's a _person_, and I can't even tell you how to define what just happened to him. Being mentally joined with a starship that then _shuts down_ for _hours_? This is uncharted territory. It's probably going to take him some time to recover from this."

"I agree with what you're saying, TJ," Young replied, "but we have an entire ship full of people who are vulnerable to attack _right now_. We can't afford this. He _needs_ to wake up and restore main power. It has to happen."

She gave him an inscrutable look.

"It has to."

Young sat down again, his injured hand resting on Rush's forehead, his other on the scientist's right hand, and he focused, as intently as possible, on the link between their minds.

/FTL,/ he projected into the dim, unfocused space of Rush's consciousness. /At a _minimum_, we need FTL./

Thirty seconds passed. Forty. The radio crackled. "The drive is spooling up," Eli said excitedly. "We're about to—"

They jumped.

Young breathed a sigh of relief, but didn't let go of the mental grip he had on Rush. He held on, continuously trying to pull him back, resisting TJ's attempts to examine his injured hand, her insistence that he take a break.

His sense of Rush's mind grew sharper and sharper as the hours passed.

Finally, seven hours after their jump to FTL, the lights came on, replacing the dim blue glow of emergency lighting with a shower of yellow.

"We're back to full power." Eli's voice crackled from the radio. "How are you doing down there?"

Young looked over at Rush, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the increased light levels.

The scientist still hadn't moved, but there was a sudden sharpening in Young's sense of his mind.

"Not sure," he replied. "I'll let you know."

/Rush?/

After hours of being completely unresponsive, Rush, of course, exploded back into consciousness like a freight train.

Young was hit by a wave of panic, adrenalin, and a headache so intense he could barely see, as Rush pushed himself up, making a passable attempt to get himself the hell _out_ of wherever he thought he was. Young managed to derail his escape attempt by anchoring his right arm to the bed. His vision blurred beneath the intolerable glare of the overhead lights.

"Easy," TJ said, pushing Rush back as she moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Young. "You're okay," she said quietly. "You're fine."

The lights dimmed of their own accord, and Young was finally able to look up.

Rush had his eyes shut. His left hand was fisted into his hair, trying to contain a headache that was so bad that _Young's_ eyes were watering.

"Rush," Young murmured, hoping that there was something coherent beneath the painful, wavering images he was getting from the other man's mind. "Rush, _talk_ to me."

Rush opened his eyes and squinted at Young. Then he shut them again and asked what seemed to be a question.

A question in Ancient.

At least—Young _hoped_ it was Ancient.

He looked at TJ, and found her looking back at him.

"Dr. Rush," she said slowly, "can you understand us? Can you understand what we're saying?"

Rush opened his eyes again and regarded them both with an expression of exhausted incredulity.

"English, Rush," Young said, shaking his shoulder gently. "_English_. Get with the program."

"Fuck you," Rush said, his accent slightly off.

"That's more like it," Young said. "How about a sentence?"

"Fuck you_ is_ a sentence," Rush replied weakly.

Young couldn't control the wave of relief that washed over him. He felt hours of tension unknot from his shoulders and back as he exhaled slowly. He tightened his grip on Rush's arm and hand.

TJ let out a long, shaky breath.

"What happened?" Rush asked them, his diction a bit less crisp than usual, confusion evident in his voice. "Why are you _holding my_ _hand_?"

"You scared the shit out of us is 'what happened'," Young replied. "You took one hell of a risk shutting down the ship. What if Eli hadn't figured it out?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." The hand that Rush had been clenching to his temple was slowly opening, dropping to the gurney, as his energy faded. "The last thing I remember is _you_, actually, on the floor. I was trying to—" he broke off with a vague gesture, either not sure how to explain or too exhausted to make the attempt.

"TJ," Young said quietly, "I think we need a minute."

She looked at him and nodded, more than a hint of warning in her eyes. "Call if you need anything," she told Rush.

Young watched her go. When she had vanished into her office, he looked back at the scientist.

"So," Young said, toying absently with the fabric of Rush's jacket, tracing the edge of the cuff with a thumbnail before he realized what the hell he was doing and stopped. "You're not going to like this."

"I already don't like it," Rush murmured, his eyes mostly closed. The other man was unnaturally still. He'd barely moved since his initial attempt to sit up.

"Homeworld Command has wanted you to use the stones to come and talk to them for quite some time, as you know," Young said quietly.

Rush nodded fractionally.

"What you _didn't_ know was that they were designing a modification to the terminal that would allow them to replace people against their will, with the express purpose of using it on _you._"

Rush turned his head to look at Young, a pained expression on his face. A hollow echo of surprise reverberated through their weakened link. "You knew about this."

"I did," Young confirmed quietly.

Rush shut his eyes again. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you would destroy the terminal," Young said truthfully.

"I might have done," Rush confirmed, "but I could have told you that they wouldn't have been able to pull me out. I might have been able to prevent this."

"I realize that," Young replied, looking away, needing a respite from the other man's eyes. "I had decided to tell you. That was what I wanted to talk to you about this morning."

Rush shook his head fractionally. Young wasn't sure how to interpret that.

"So what happened?" Rush asked him finally.

"I switched with Telford," Young said, watching Rush carefully. "I was gone for about twenty minutes before I got Carter to send me back. A few minutes after I switched out, the ship dropped out of FTL and critical systems started to shut down. We lost all power in very short order. You were unresponsive the entire time. Since Telford couldn't talk to you, and since there was no way to study Destiny's systems, Carter pulled the team back."

"Twenty minutes?" Rush murmured. "This could have been much worse, you realize."

"Yeah," Young replied. "I know. But that 'twenty minutes'? It was half a day ago. You've been out for something like eleven hours. We got full power back just a few minutes ago. You don't—remember any of this? Eli thought that maybe you cut power on purpose."

Rush shook his head, eyes closing. "I don't know. It's possible."

"Hey," Young said, rubbing his hand slowly over Rush's upper arm and shoulder. "I know you're tired, but stay with me for a minute."

Rush opened his eyes fractionally.

"I need you to know that I—well, I didn't mean for it to happen this way."

"You should have told me," Rush said, sounding defeated. "This whole push came from Telford, didn't it?"

"Yes," Young said quietly.

"Of course it did," the scientist replied. "Of course."

"What happened between you two?" Young asked, trying to keep his words and his thoughts casual.

Rush just shook his head and said nothing.

"I should let you rest," Young said finally. "I'm long overdue on the bridge anyway."

"You've been down here the whole time?" Rush asked. "Why?"

"You were our best hope for restoring main power," Young said. "Plus," he continued, "I figured I owed you. I wanted to—" he paused, looking away. "Fix this. If I could."

Rush looked at him for a moment, his thoughts a distant, unreadable swirl. Finally, he nodded.

Young's fingers briefly tightened on his shoulder, and he stood up to leave.

He had only taken a few steps when he felt his headache intensify. The room spun slightly. Young turned back to look at Rush. The other man hadn't moved. His eyes were closed. "Rush?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Rush replied. "It'll pass."

"You're sure?"

"Relatively."

Young watched him uncertainly.

"Go," Rush said. "Stop being ridiculous."

Young rolled his eyes and turned, fighting the sense of vertigo as he walked forward.

He stopped by TJ's office on his way out, partly because he wanted to touch base with her, and partly because he wasn't sure he could make it across the open space of the infirmary floor to the corridor.

"How is he?" TJ asked him as he rounded her doorframe, one hand gripping the molded metal edge.

"He seems okay," Young said, fighting to focus on her through the pain of his headache, while the walls hitched and spun behind her. "Unbelievably."

TJ stood, giving him a searching look. "I'll check him out, try to get him to eat something. I think what he really needs—" she broke off, darting around her desk in a blur of black uniform and gold hair to catch one of Young's arms as his knees buckled.

TJ couldn't support him entirely, and together they folded to the cold metal of the deck plating.

"Who is it?" she asked him sharply. "You or him?"

"Both," he managed to choke out.

He felt her grab his chin and tilt his face, looking into his eyes.

"Can you get up?" she asked.

He tried to steady himself against the vertigo in his mind.

"_Can you get up_?"

"Yeah," he slurred, trying to get his feet underneath him as TJ draped one of his arms over her shoulders and pulled him up.

They crossed the floor, always on the risk of overbalancing, as she dragged him back toward Rush.

He struggled to avoid throwing up on her as she guided him back to the chair he had just vacated a few minutes before. It was a near thing.

Young reached out blindly, unable to open his eyes against the pressure in his head. His fingers caught on Rush's jacket. He leaned forward, his injured hand closing painfully around Rush's wrist.

After a few seconds, Young was able to open his eyes.

Rush was looking at him with undisguised hostility.

"You said you were _sure_," Young snapped at him.

"I said _relatively_ sure."

"What just happened?" TJ asked, dismay evident in her tone.

"I think we might have damaged our link," Young said, rubbing his jaw. "Apparently, we can't separate."

"I fucking despise you at times," Rush hissed. "You know that, correct?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

* * *

><p>When Young woke at nine hundred hours the following morning, he was disconcerted to find himself lying on a gurney in the infirmary, half-draped over Rush.<p>

He sat up abruptly, _intensely_ glad that the other man wasn't awake yet.

As he pulled away, he felt a dull ache begin in his temples as his sense of Rush's mind faded. The infirmary walls thankfully stayed in place—there was no sign of the debilitating vertigo that had laid him out the previous night, forcing TJ to move a second gurney immediately adjacent to Rush's so that they both could get some sleep.

He reached behind him blindly, his right hand closing around Rush's shoulder before the dull ache of separation could wake the other man. Reassuringly, the pain faded and his sense of Rush sharpened immediately, approaching the level of clarity he'd been experiencing when their link had been undamaged.

The link would heal.

It had to.

Young was examining the splint that TJ had constructed for his left hand, already spectacularly bruised from its impact with the wall, when the silence of the infirmary was broken by the swish of opening doors.

"Camile." He heard TJ's voice carry from around the corner. "What can I do for you?"

"I need to speak with Colonel Young," Wray replied. "I understand he's here?"

"He is," TJ's voice was guarded. "But he's exhausted. No visitors for at least two more hours."

Wray was silent for a moment. "Then I'd like to speak to Dr. Rush, please."

"I'm sorry," TJ said, "but that's not possible right now."

"What's going on, TJ?" Wray asked, her voice quiet, subtly dangerous.

TJ didn't answer. Young could almost _hear_ them staring each other down.

He slid off his gurney and pushed it silently into its previous position, being careful not to stray too far from Rush as he did so. Despite the fact that replacing his gurney in its proper position had taken him less than six feet away from the other man, Young's head was throbbing after only a few seconds.

Great.

This was just great.

He pressed his fingers to his temples and perched on the edge of the gurney, twisting to look at Rush.

He was more than a little disturbed by how dead to the world the scientist seemed, but a quick brush of his hand to the side of Rush's neck confirmed that the other man was, indeed, asleep rather than unconscious.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist," Wray said.

"TJ," Young murmured into the radio, broadcasting on the medical channel. "It's fine, I'm up. Let her come back."

A few seconds later, they both rounded the corner. Wray raised an eyebrow at something—probably his disheveled appearance, but it could have been any number of eyebrow-worthy things. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, he stopped her with an upraised hand.

"Quietly," he said, keeping his voice low. "Don't wake him up."

Wray nodded and approached silently, looking carefully at Rush. His hair and the dark material of his jacket highlighted the pallor of his skin. Even in sleep, his eyebrows drew slightly together, as if he were fighting a headache. Young reached back, placing his good hand immediately behind him on the mattress, subtly brushing the edges of Rush's fingers.

"He looks _terrible_," Wray said quietly.

"He's had a rough week," Young murmured back.

"Colonel," Wray said. "Everett. What happened last night?"

Young sighed, bringing his aching hand up to rest on his right shoulder. "What do you mean?" he asked, stalling for time.

"You know exactly what I mean," she replied. "Why couldn't Homeworld Command switch Rush out? Why did Destiny shut down when we were taken?" She fixed him with narrowed eyes.

She was perceptive.

Too perceptive to lie to, except by omission.

And—she had helped him.

"Rush has a mental link with Destiny," Young said, pausing for a moment as she shot him a skeptical look, "and also," he fought the urge to look away, "with me."

"A _mental link_?"

Young nodded. "It is what it sounds like."

Wray watched him for a moment, her face unreadable before turning away, one hand on her hip. She paced away a few steps and then spun to face him again.

"How did this happen?" she asked quietly.

"It happened when he was trapped in the chair," he replied. "Several days ago."

"To Destiny? That I can understand," she paused, "_somewhat_. But to _you_?"

"I pulled him out of the chair," Young said quietly. "As a consequence of that, his mind is balanced between me and the ship. Without me, he gets pulled in."

"And that's what happened yesterday when you were switched out?" Wray wrapped her arms around her rib cage. "Why did the ship shut down _entirely_?"

"Rush may have done that himself. We don't know for sure. He doesn't remember. He's never been able to form any memories while he's with Destiny."

"It's likely that organic neural architecture can't support the amount of data those memories would require," TJ murmured from behind Wray's shoulder. "His mind just isn't built for it."

"So you've talked to him?" Wray asked, worry evident in her tone. "Is he going to be all right?"

"We think so," TJ said cautiously.

Wray looked over at Young. "Colonel," she said quietly. "I appreciate that you're concerned about him, but your presence is needed amongst the crew. I've been able to cover for you to some extent," she continued, "but you're going to have to put in an appearance on the bridge and in the mess if only for the sake of morale. You also may want to explain why you were conspicuously absent in the middle of a crisis. People are starting to talk."

"I would imagine that they are," Young said, running his thumb awkwardly along his jaw, trying not to jostle his injured fingers as he did so. "And believe me, staying down here wasn't my first choice. But in order to get full power back, I had to pull Rush out. And to do _that_, I had to be with him."

Wray looked him in the eye, her expression carefully neutral, her delicate shoulders straight.

Young had never been so grateful for her impeccable professionalism.

"I see," she said quietly.

"I need your help on this, Camile," Young said.

"Yes," she said, her voice soft, "you do." She glanced at Rush. "The question is, how much of this should the crew be told? And—" she broke off, looking at TJ, "who knows already?"

"Only TJ, Eli, and Greer," Young said quietly.

"A pretty tight-lipped bunch," Wray commented, "with the possible exception of Eli."

"He's not going to let this slip," Young said.

Wray cocked her head. "We'll see, I suppose. You're going to need to tell the crew _something_," she commented. "I would suggest explaining only that Rush is connected to the ship, and that Telford tried to pull him out, which resulted in Rush _and_ Destiny shutting down."

Young raised his eyebrows at her.

"It's not perfect, I know. It doesn't explain _your_ actions, for one thing," she said. "But support for you is high enough that you can probably just fail to explain yourself and people will assume that you were doing something essential. Especially if Rush isn't undermining everything you say."

"That's not exactly forthright," Young commented.

"Personally, I would steer clear of mentioning this mental connection you have with him. All that will accomplish is to make people nervous, especially considering your history."

"Does it make _you_ nervous?" Young asked her.

"No, colonel, frankly, it _terrifies _me."

"Well," he said, somewhat taken aback, "you do a good job of hiding it."

She smiled slightly, which took some of the sting out of her previous statement. "So," she said, "should we hold a meeting in the gate room?"

Young looked over at Rush for a moment and tried to imagine waking the scientist up and then dragging him, quite possibly literally, to the gate room. He tried to imagine standing up there on that lacy metal staircase, unable to separate from Rush by more than a few feet, in front of the entire crew of Destiny and telling everyone that Rush had some kind of psychic connection to the ship, but, not to worry, the whole thing was under control.

On a good day, it would be a horrible experience. And this—well, this was already _not_ a good day.

"No," he said to Wray. "No, that's not going to work. We need a different format. Maybe town-hall style, split the crew up into three or four sessions?"

"Like we did a few years ago," Wray nodded. "Fine. I think we should start immediately."

Young sighed. "I hear you, but I want Rush there."

"He doesn't have to be," Wray pointed out. "It's just going to be an additional stress. Let him sleep. He obviously needs it."

Young exchanged a quick glance with TJ.

"I have to insist on this, Camile," Young said quietly. "I need everyone to know that Rush and I are both on the same page."

She shot him a sharp look, but nodded. "I see your point. I can't emphasize enough that you need to deal with this _now_ though, before the morale situation gets out of hand."

"Spread the word that three town hall style meetings are going to commence at—" he looked at his watch, then up at TJ. "What do you think?"

"No earlier than eleven hundred hours," TJ said quietly. "And even then," she shook her head, "if he hasn't woken up, I don't feel comfortable waking him."

"Let's say twelve hundred hours then," Young said to Wray. "I'll leave it up to you to organize the groups."

"Don't forget," Wray said, as she turned to go, "to leave time for your meeting with Colonel Telford."

Young tried not to wince as he watched her go, her shoes echoing faintly on the deck plating.

TJ hovered uncertainly at Young's shoulder, and he turned to give her a rueful look.

"Do you really have to meet with Telford?" she asked.

"It was one of the conditions on which they sent me back yesterday. I can't risk them pulling me out again," Young said, glancing over at Rush.

She put a hand on his shoulder, and he leaned into her, just slightly.

"This is a god damned mess, isn't it?" he asked her. "Can he even stay on his feet for three of these meetings? Not to mention Telford. How is _that_ going to work?"

"One step at a time," TJ said. "I'm going to go find you both some breakfast."

She swept out of the room, leaving him alone with Rush.

He looked down at the other man, absently switching his grip to curl around Rush's upper arm. He wished he could give the scientist a day to recuperate—but the bottom line was that they simply didn't have time right now. He agreed with Wray that the briefings should be done as soon as possible. And since Young had to attend, that meant Rush was going to have to attend as well. Young didn't see that there was much choice about that.

As for the meeting with Telford, well, there was no chance in _hell_ that he was letting Rush anywhere near the man, which meant they were going to have to separate, at least to some degree.

He needed to find out what had happened between Rush and Telford.

And for _that_, he neededa strategy.

Asking Rush about what had happened between him and Telford, while nominally the easiest solution, was also the one that seemed to have the least chance of yielding positive results—unless he was looking for a pissed off senior scientist.

Young wondered if he could use the same strategy on Telford that Wray had used on Carter—claim to know what had happened, and then see what additional information he could collect. He had one advantage over Wray in that regard, which was that via Rush's dream, he had actually witnessed what was likely the moment that had ended the association between the two men.

He tried to think back, remembering the details of the dream, looking for anything he could use.

Amanda Perry had been beamed out of wherever they were, indicating they had been backed up by a starship with Asgard technology, likely the Daedalus, according to Wray's breakfast commentary of the previous day. Dr. Perry had mentioned something about continuing a _legacy_.

Young wasn't sure what to make of that comment.

There had been something else—something about the room itself—a detail Rush had noticed and that he hadn't liked, a detail that had struck Young immediately.

Although the technology was clearly Ancient, the room had contained elements of goa'uld design.

_Anubis_.

The name came to him suddenly, but he _knew_ that it was correct.

Several years ago, Young had been commanding one of the SG teams that had gone in to destroy all the sensitive material remaining in the half-ascended goa'uld's research lab after his clone had nearly destroyed Cheyenne Mountain.

Young's team had destroyed most of the lab and, what they didn't destroy, they had taken.

Only a few years later, Telford, Rush, and Dr. Perry must have found another lab, likely on a different planet entirely.

There, they had tried something.

Something they _knew_ was dangerous.

Based on the nature of Anubis' research, Young had a pretty good guess at what they had been working toward.

Ascension.

He looked down sharply at Rush, as if he could confirm his suspicion in the other man's face.

If he was right, and that's what they'd been there for, why had _Rush_ of all people, been the test subject?

Testing things on _himself_ really didn't seem like Rush's style.

Did it?

Young paused, absently propping his splinted hand up against his shoulder, considering the question.

The thing that first came to mind, of course, was the neural interface chair. Rush had obviously wanted to use it, but had been hesitant to risk _himself_, an attitude that had pissed Young off significantly and led to several arguments, the most intense being the one after Dr. Franklin had been injured.

_I'm not stopping you Rush. Go. Sit. Be my guest._

And Rush had.

He had gone.

Over and over.

How many times had it been now?

Four.

At _least_ four.

Rush was very much a person who rapidly assessed risks and then, having decided to take them, didn't look back. Framing Young for Spencer's 'murder' was a perfect example of this. His eyes narrowed in irritation at the memory.

Rush was fucking impossible to deal with sometimes, he reflected but, as it turned out, maybe not the kind of guy who put a premium on his own personal safety. Not the kind of guy who would have ever, _ever_ let Telford experiment on Amanda Perry. Rush's initial resistance to sitting in the chair had, to some extent, defined Young's perception of him. But now that he'd known the man for nearly two years, had seen him discard his personal well being on a semi-regular basis, he was starting to think that Rush's behavior with the chair was the exception, not the rule.

The first two times Rush had sat in the chair he'd constructed a software buffer between his mind and Destiny. The third time had been in the midst of an attack, and there had been no chance for Rush to erect any barrier between himself and the ship.

That was when all of this had started.

That was when the lights had begun behaving strangely, when doors had started opening for Rush before he reached them, when Destiny had, in Eli's words, decided that it _liked_ him.

Involuntarily, Young shivered.

"You knew," he whispered.

He blinked rapidly, feeling the same sense of shock and betrayal he _always_ felt when he discovered an absolutely _essential_ piece of information that Rush had been keeping from him.

The man had _known_ something like this would happen following his use of the chair interface. He had tried to avoid it by building barriers between his mind and Destiny until finally, after _two years_, his hand had been forced, and he'd interfaced with the ship in the absence of any buffer.

And the ship hadn't killed him.

It hadn't destroyed his mind, like it had destroyed Dr. Franklin's.

Rush had woken Destiny up.

Young took several deep breaths, staring at a point on the ceiling, trying to calm down.

It didn't take a genius-level IQ to figure out why the scientist hadn't told him any of this. Rush hadn't respected him when they had met on the Icarus base and their relationship sure as hell hadn't improved post-arrival on Destiny. Rush had done nothing but try to undermine and circumvent Young's command.

Given that Rush's position within the program and affiliation with Telford had been—considerably more high profile than Young had been aware of, perhaps Rush's attitude toward his command was slightly more understandable. Slightly.

Even so, the man had been _impossible _to deal with. The only way that Young had really been able to get his attention was leaving him for dead on a barren alien world.

"You're a lot of work," he whispered to the scientist, the words twisting painfully in the air between them. "I wish you had trusted me. Even a little bit."

Young spent the next hour and a half trying to regulate the disturbed swirl of his thoughts. He absently forced down the tasteless breakfast that TJ had brought him and spent the rest of the time trying _not_ to think about Telford and the numerous ways, both known and unknown, that the other man had fucked everything up.

Finally, Rush's eyelids flickered, and he tensed slightly, eyebrows pulling together as he struggled back toward consciousness.

"Hey," Young said, grabbing his shoulder, both to gently shake him awake and to prevent him from making a break for the door.

Rush tensed. Through their link, Young clearly felt the scientist's distress at being held down. He eased up on the pressure immediately.

"Hello," Rush replied, cracking his eyelids, his voice hoarse.

"You need water," Young said quietly. He helped Rush sit up before he handed him the plastic cup TJ had left. "TJ said that if you don't drink at least a liter you're getting an IV."

Rush grimaced as he tasted the water and looked over at Young, his expression full of mistrust. "I don't know what that is, but it's _not_ _water_."

"Yeah, TJ put some stuff in it," Young said. "Salt, I think? I probably should have mentioned that."

Rush stared at him.

"Damn it, Rush, I'm not trying to poison you. It's budget Gatorade. Just drink it."

Rush rolled his eyes, and irritation flooded into Young's mind. He couldn't pin down the exact source of what _specifically_ was annoying the other man, but he figured the aggravation was a good sign, as it indicated that Rush was feeling more like his usual self.

"What are you so fuckin' happy about, anyway?" Rush snapped, picking up on Young's mood as he sipped his salted water with obvious distaste. "This is terrible."

Rush made a vague motion with two fingers between his temple and Young's general direction, from which Young inferred that he was talking about their link, rather than the salted water, though, that was probably _also _terrible.

"How am I supposed to get anything done?" Rush continued. "Presumably you have things to do as well, though what exactly those things might be remains somewhat unclear to me."

"Look," Young said, trying to keep things as congenial as possible. "At least for today, this isn't going to be a problem—"

"If you think that I'm going to stay here for an entire _day_—"

"No," Young said, holding up his injured hand, trying to diffuse the other man's rapidly spiking pique. "Nothing like that. Look, Wray and I have set up three consecutive town-hall meetings with the crew, which you and I can do _together_. The idea is to stem some of the rumors that have cropped up after yesterday and explain—"

Young paused briefly at Rush's increasingly frozen expression, but decided to forge ahead.

"Explain why your—"

Rush's gaze looked like it might be successful in an attempt to melt lead.

"Explain that you and the ship are linked. I thought—"

"Yes," Rush said. "Precisely. You. _You_ thought. You couldn't even _fucking_ wait until I was _fucking_ conscious to _fucking_ plan our _fucking_ day. Well, I have news for you. First of all, I don't know what a 'town-hall' meeting is, and I don't _want_ to know. Second, I'm not doing it, and certainly not three times in a row. Third, and most importantly, there are other things that are more pressing at this point, specifically evaluating the platform and the neural network that define Destiny's AI."

"That doesn't have to necessarily be you, and it certainly doesn't have to be _now_." Young was peripherally aware of the rising volume of his voice.

"What a perceptive assessment," Rush said, his voice rising, his words and thoughts bleeding out of his control. "Of course, given your less-than-stellar track record, _you'll forgive me if I think that means fuck all_."

"Just don't—freak out about this," Young said, giving the other man's shoulder a subtle shake.

This was clearly the wrong thing to do.

Rush pulled himself free with a violent jerk, his thoughts a high-pitched shred at the back of Young's mind, warping from distress to anger and back again.

"Don't _touch_ me," Rush hissed.

"You're a lot of work," Young said through clenched teeth, fighting the urge to say something less constructive.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Rush asked.

"With _me_?" Young stared at him in disbelief.

"_Town hall meetings_? _A lot of work_? Do you have a background in middle management? Did you get traumatized at one of Dr. Jackson's 'cultural sensitivity' seminars? Don't tell me I'm 'a lot of work,' tell me what you _actually mean_," Rush snapped.

Young leaned in close, staring Rush down from beneath lowered brows. "You're obstructive, impulsive, and psychologically disturbed," he growled. "Yet _again_, you have put the lives of the entire crew in jeopardy, this time by tying your own very tenuous existence to the solvency of this ship. I am trying to _help_ you. I've been trying to fucking help you since day one, and what do you do? You lie to me. You hide things from me. You undermine my command at _every_ god damned opportunity that presents itself to you." He broke off, breathing heavily, looking away from Rush's unreadable stare, wishing he could leave, but knowing there was nowhere for him to go.

There was nowhere he _could_ go.

"I guarantee you," Rush said softly, icily, "that if we're going to list past grievances, this will rapidly become an argument that_ I_ am going to win."

"You think I don't know that?" Young whispered.

Rush looked away, eyes shutting as he leaned forward. He pulled his knees up, curling into himself, his head in his hands.

Young didn't need to see what the other man was thinking.

Misery was written in every line of his body.

"We can't do this right now," Young said quietly, finding it hard to get the words out. "Neither of us."

Rush didn't say anything.

"Look," Young said, trying again. "I'll go with you. We'll do whatever needs to get done. I promise you that. If we have to put off these meetings, fine. You decide."

Finally, _finally_, it seemed like he had said the right thing.

Rush's shoulders relaxed visibly, and he lifted his head, his eyes still shielded by his hands.

Young gave him a thirty count and then, very carefully, put his hand down between Rush's shoulder blades.

/?/ Young projected a wordless wave of uncertainty, asking for permission.

He got back a wordless assent, and Rush relaxed incrementally. Underneath his palm, he could feel the scientist's heart, pounding fiercely through his thin frame. Slowly, Young dropped every latent barrier and allowed his thoughts to come into careful apposition with Rush's mind.

His headache receded entirely.

/Sorry./ the scientist's thoughts abruptly coalesced to form the word and then dissolved, again unreadable.

/You're having a bad week,/ Young replied, pressing his thumb into tense muscles along the edge of Rush's shoulder blade.

/I'm having a bad decade,/ Rush replied.

/Yeah, I'm getting that./ The words had a rueful edge that Young hadn't meant to give them.

They sat like that for almost a minute before Rush raised his head and reached out to pick up his water and Young pulled his hand back.

/What time are these meetings supposed to be happening?/ Rush asked.

/Don't worry about it,/ Young replied. /Whenever./

/I can do some of the necessary coding to interrogate the AI via laptop./

Young was fairly certain he'd just received a major concession.

/Sure,/ he replied casually. /You can work during the meetings. I think Wray is probably going to be doing most of the talking. The main thing is for you to be present so that no one thinks we're concealing anything./ Young grimaced slightly, /Which is, of course, not true./

/I think our deception is fairly iron-clad, as no one would ever suspect _us_ of cooperating. I can barely believe it myself./ Rush finished his cup of water and reached for the pitcher of salt solution. /So Wray knows everything?/

"I got it," Young said quietly, grabbing the cup out of the scientist's hand. He switched back to projecting as he refilled it. /She doesn't know everything. I didn't tell her about the genetic changes./

Rush tapped his fingers absently on the side of his cup as Young was hit by a stream of directed, sequenced images that it seemed to require significant mental energy for Rush to assemble.

/Was that your to-do list?/ Young asked. /Because I think I missed about ninety percent of that./

/Meetings and programming,/ Rush said, verbally tagging an image of the gate room and a burst of code, /then interrogate Destiny's AI, then—/ Rush's projection switched again from verbal to visual, and he shot Young a series of images that were now interpretable as "miscellaneous."

Young tried to clamp down on his sudden unease, but Rush picked it up immediately.

/What?/

/There's one more thing on the list,/ Young said guardedly. /In order for Carter to send me back, I agreed to report to Telford sometime today. We can send someone to switch with him at our convenience, but it's got to be today, and he's coming here./

Rush didn't say anything. His thoughts split into multiple streams that were almost impossible to follow.

Almost.

From the onslaught of images, because he was looking for it, he caught again a brief glimpse of the same darkened chamber, and the pink glow of exposed circuitry blurring suddenly as Rush was dragged from beneath it.

He tried to hold onto the memory, but couldn't.

/What did you just see?/ Rush asked him sharply.

/Nothing. Some circuits. Goa'uld maybe,/ Young said, perfectly truthfully.

"I can't talk to Telford," Rush murmured, switching away from projecting, mentally pulling away from Young as much as he was able. "Not today."

Young was unbelievably tempted to push the issue, especially now, as Rush was being unusually cooperative.

He wasn't sure he would get a better chance, but—

Something stopped him.

Perhaps it was that they had a long day ahead of them, and he didn't want to destroy their fragile ceasefire.

Perhaps it was that he didn't feel that he could control his _own_ reactions where Telford was concerned, let alone diffuse Rush if he became upset.

As he looked at the scientist, he was fairly certain it wasn't either of those things.

"You don't have to talk to him," Young said carefully, pulling back just slightly from Rush's mind. "I have an idea about that." He shot the scientist a brief visual, and the other man nodded in agreement.

Rush had nearly finished the water, so Young pulled out the power bar that TJ had given him earlier and handed it over. "Don't let it be said that near death experiences and an unfortunate habit of missing meals don't have their occasional compensations."

"Perish the thought," Rush said, wasting no time in tearing the packaging open.

"It's one of TJ's last power bars."

"I'm sure," Rush said, breaking off a piece and handing it to Young.

"Nope. You need the calories more than anyone."

"I'm trying to have a moment and you're ruining it."

That comment surprised a small smile out of Young, and, with a half shrug, he reached out and took the proffered piece. It wasn't one of the standard SGC issue energy bars that came with the MRE's. It was clearly from a civilian, but Young couldn't really imagine anyone surrendering a store-bought power bar that was half covered in chocolate.

"Where did TJ find this?" he asked, examining it.

"They're hers." Rush said, eyes shut, in the midst of chewing. "She insists on giving them to me at intervals, even though I keep informing her that intermittent power bars do not stand between me and starvation."

Young raised his eyebrows, surprised that there was anything about TJ that _Rush_ would know but he wouldn't, wondering how active a role TJ had played in keeping Rush on his feet for the past two years, wondering what Rush's caloric intake generally ran, wondering why TJ had been carrying chocolate covered power bars with her when she'd had perfectly good SGC power bars in excess, wondering whether he really remembered what chocolate tasted like.

"I think you've contextualized the whole experience enough," Rush commented dryly, clearly having picked up on at least some of Young's thoughts. "I'd just eat it."

"Now you're ruining _my _moment," Young said, before he finally put it in his mouth.

He bit down through small, crunchy, synthesized beads that tasted vaguely like oats and almonds and peanuts and, god help him, heart-breakingly familiar, safe, Earth-based _preservatives_ before he hit the chocolate, which was waxy and brittle and so fucking sweet it that it was actually painful.

"Oh my god," Young said, shutting his eyes.

"That," Rush commented after a few seconds, "was obscene." The scientist's tone radiated disdain, which was entirely belied by the dry amusement Young felt coming through their link.

"Give it a rest," Young said. "You've been eating these the whole time, apparently."

"Not that enthusiastically. I save my oral fixations for things that deserve them."

Young looked at him dubiously. "Such as?"

"Cigarettes," Rush said, shutting his eyes.

"Ugh," Young replied, half-reflexively. "Those things kill you."

The scientist smiled faintly, his eyes lost in the middle distance. "The best things always do."

In the back of Rush's mind, Destiny flared to life for a brief instant, sweeping forward with a darkness that Young couldn't penetrate or understand, only keep at bay. In a moment it was gone, but Young was left again with a vague sense of dread as he looked at Rush.

Rush turned to meet his eyes, cocking his head slightly as if to indicate that there was nothing to worry about.

"So," Rush said imperiously, grabbing a metal crutch and deftly snagging one of his boots off the floor. "I'm going to need someone to carry my computer. After I find it."

Young sighed.

* * *

><p>By twelve hundred hours they had been cleared by TJ and had successfully located Rush's computer, still where he had left it in the control interface room. Slightly late, they entered the mess to find Wray sitting silently in front of a third of Destiny's crew. What little conversation there was ceased as the two of them entered the room.<p>

The walk from the doorway of the mess over to where Wray was seated was long, and agonizingly slow. Even Rush, normally unaffected by hostile scrutiny, was uncomfortable, a nebulous anxiety swirling darkly in his mind.

"Hey," Eli said, as they walked by, his voice carrying easily, his tone light, but tinged with more than a hint of his usual exasperation. "I see that you're alive. A radio call would have been, you know, kind of nice. Just a hey Eli, thanks for saving the day—"

"Eli." Rush snapped out his name like a rebuke—as if that were an appropriate response.

But maybe it was, because the room had suddenly lost its awful silence. People began whispering again, shifting. Rush paused, not looking directly at the young man, and then added, "no less than I expected."

"You're welcome," Eli said, a faint smile on his face, then continued, slightly louder, "feel free to just, you know, implement barely understandable insane-sounding poorly explained plans and then tell me to repair all the consequences with no warning. It's super fun for me."

Young's mouth twitched slightly. Rush rolled his eyes and turned away from Eli, continuing on to the front of the room.

Young settled himself beside Wray in front of the table she had chosen, perching on the edge immediately to her right. Rush, naturally, sat far from Young as he could get without stressing their link, which turned out to be about three and a half feet away at the end of the table. He immediately opened the computer that Young slid over to him, not looking at anyone.

Wray looked at Rush for a moment, then turned her gaze to Young.

He gave her a half-shrug in return and motioned for her to get started.

It didn't take long to explain the basics of why the ship had lost power. The story that he and Wray had outlined together was fairly straightforward, and the crew seemed to take it pretty well judging by the relaxed postures and the intermittent wry commentary that came back at her from the group in the room.

At the end of Wray's explanation, she turned to Rush and asked him if he had anything to add.

Young could have told her that was a terrible idea.

At her question Rush looked up, running his fingers over his five o'clock shadow.

"No. No, not particularly." He looked absently at his computer before adding, "though I'd advise against leaving me for dead unless you want to also lose life support."

It took all of Young's self control not to visibly wince.

/Thanks for that,/ he shot at Rush.

/They need to know,/ Rush snapped back. /I just happened to pick an example from within my repertoire of experience./

"Yes." Wray said, loosing her polished delivery, "well, I'm sure we'll all keep that in mind. Any questions?"

There weren't many.

"That could have gone smoother," Wray hissed at Rush as the next group was filing in.

Rush completely ignored her.

"Camile," Young said quietly, "Don't worry about it."

/Would it kill you to just maintain a professional demeanor for what, less than two hours?/ He did his best to avoid glaring at the scientist.

/I'm not a team player,/ Rush snapped at him absently. /This should not be news to you./

"Hey," Eli said, approaching Rush. "If you're going to completely ignore a meeting that's actually _about_ _you_, which, by the way, is really awkward for everyone, in order to work on some secret coding thing, then here." Eli shoved Rush's glasses at him. "Brody improved your really crappy repair job, but he's scared of you. So here you go."

Rush took the glasses, inspecting the delicate metalwork that had replaced the mostly destroyed frames while trying to determine when exactly the science team had managed to abscond with the unwearable frames.

"You found the machine shop, I see," Rush said mildly, clearly impressed.

"Well, we were wondering where those canes came from. Crutches. Whatever."

"You know, you really shouldn't be wandering around unsecured areas of the ship," Rush said, but his entire demeanor somehow radiated approval.

"Maybe you should start leading by example," Eli said, raising his eyebrows. "See you guys later."

* * *

><p>The discussion with the next two groups went slightly better.<p>

Wray didn't ask Rush for any comments, and Rush didn't say anything, just spent the entire time writing code.

As Eli had pointed out, this was slightly awkward, but Young would take what he could get.

He was fairly certain from the looks that most people were shooting in Rush's direction, that the immediate fallout of these meetings was going to result in even more people questioning whether Rush was remotely mentally stable.

This was not an unreasonable question, in Young's opinion.

Greer and Scott were both in the last group to be briefed. Young motioned to them to come forward at the end.

/Let's get this over with, shall we?/ Young asked Rush, who paused, fingers hovering over his keyboard.

Rush tried but failed to suppress the surge of dread that Young's comment produced.

/You and me both,/ he replied to the sensation.

"I need to borrow you two for about half an hour," Young said as they approached.

"Sure," Scott said. "What do you need?"

"Not here," Young said, preventing further discussion.

Rush closed his computer and slid it over toward Young, then grabbed his crutches and stood. Scott took his elbow to steady him, which earned the lieutenant a steely look from the scientist.

They kept to a slow pace so that Rush didn't have a problem keeping up with them. The walk to the communications room where they kept the terminal wasn't long, but Rush's energy was clearly beginning to flag.

This was not overly surprising to Young, especially considering the events of the past twenty-four hours, but the scientist seemed to take it as a personal failing.

Young could feel him pushing himself hard.

Too hard.

"Lieutenant," he said, when they were standing in front of the door, "give me your weapon."

"Sir?"

"You're going to be switching with Colonel Telford."

The other man's face tightened. "Understood," he replied.

"We're going to seal you in the communications room." Young paused, pocketing the clip from Scott's weapon before doing the same with his own gun. He set both unloaded weapons on the floor. "Go ahead and switch. I'll follow you in just a few minutes."

Scott nodded, eyes flicking to Rush and Greer. After an almost imperceptible hesitation he turned on his heel and entered the room. Young locked the door behind him, then turned to Greer.

"Sergeant," he said quietly, "I need you to do two things for me. First, you have to make sure that Telford doesn't make it out of this room. I don't think he's going to get past me. I don't think he's even going to try, but on the off chance, use nonlethal force, obviously."

Greer nodded. "No problem."

"Number two, you need to watch him," Young said, pointing at Rush.

"What," Rush said darkly.

Young stepped in close to Greer, eyes sweeping the hallway. "Our link is damaged," he said quietly to the sergeant, ignoring Rush's disbelieving glare. "He's going to be right next to the door, and I'm going to be right on the other side of the bulkhead, but that's about the maximum distance we can separate."

"No shit," Greer said quietly.

"I need you to talk to him, and if he stops responding to you, I need you to come in and get me. He's almost certainly going to get—" Young paused, searching for the right word, "kind of weird. That's okay. But if he stops responding entirely, you need to come in and get me. Immediately."

"Excuse me," Rush snapped, irritation flooding through their link. "But I'm _right here_, you realize."

"For _now_ you are," Young said. "Let's keep it that way." He turned back to Greer. "Understood?"

"Got it," Greer said, compressing his lips.

"And you," Young said, rounding on Rush, pushing him back against the cold metal of the corridor wall. "Stay here, _right here_, and don't make this difficult."

Before Rush could start to argue, Young hit the door controls, leaving Rush and Greer in the corridor, regarding each other warily.

Once he stepped into the room, there was no question that Scott had already switched with Telford.

The other man was leaning against the desk where the terminal was placed, arms crossed, expression impatient. Young entered the room and then immediately stepped sideways to lean against the back wall at the point that was closest to where Rush was positioned in the corridor.

The headache was just short of unmanageable, and he got only the barest hint of Rush's presence.

"Everett," Telford said, his tone clipped.

"David." Young crossed his arms, deliberately keeping his pose relaxed.

"You have full power back, I see."

"We do," Young confirmed.

They stared at each other for a moment.

"How did he do it?" Telford said, a slight jerk of his head betraying his irritation.

"I'm not sure myself," Young said mildly.

"Damn it, don't lie to me. I'm your commanding officer."

"Are you?" Young asked dryly. "You don't outrank me, and you're here at _my _discretion. I consider you the military liaison between Destiny and Homeworld Command. That's it."

"Insubordination isn't going to look good when it comes time to evaluate your record."

Young smiled, brief and humorless. "You want to talk evaluations, David?"

Telford said nothing.

"My assessment is that _you_ should be pulling chopper detail at the Antarctic base by now, not inserting yourself between me and General O'Neill." He fixed Telford with a steely glare. "This isn't your command, David, not anymore."

"Your opinions count for jack shit, Everett," Telford said, his eyes dark. "I need to talk to Rush."

"I don't think so," Young replied.

"Are you refusing a _direct order_?"

"Dr. Rush is in the infirmary," he said, skirting another argument about chain of command. "TJ says no visitors."

"That's bullshit," Telford said, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

"I wish it were," Young replied, his expression frozen.

Telford looked away.

"If he dies, I'm holding you responsible," Young said into the silence between them.

"Is that—_likely_?" Telford asked, his brows drawn together, eyes moving in rapid jerks over the floor.

"Do you give a damn?" Young asked conversationally.

"Do _you_?"

"He's my senior scientist."

"In the loosest sense of the word," Telford's voice rose, his eyes fixed on Young. "You've almost killed him _yourself_ how many times now? Not that I blame you, the man's a god damned _viper_."

"Takes one to know one, David," Young said, deliberately echoing Rush's memory of the darkened chamber. "He told me about your work together. He told me _what happened_."

"What?" Telford whispered, as if Young had yanked the word straight out of him.

Young said nothing.

"And you _believed _him?" Telford said, recovering his equilibrium, straightening as he pushed away from the table.

"I did."

"Well there's your mistake right there. How many times has he screwed you over in _exactly_ this way?" Telford asked, pacing away a few steps before he turned back to Young. "How many times? The star. The tracking device. The chair. The code." The other man took a deep breath. "Why would you _ever_ side with _him_ against _me_?"

"I'd like to hear your side of it," Young said, his breath shallow and quiet in the back of his lungs, his face as unreadable as he could make it.

"He might not have liked what he was doing," Telford snapped, "but he hardly had a moral high ground _there_. No one _liked_ it, but everyone agreed it was _necessary_. Lam, Jackson, O'Neill, Landry, all of them. We didn't know what the ninth chevron led to, but we knew that in order to access _whatever_ lay beyond it, we were going to have to first hit certain benchmarks. That much was clear from what Dr. Jackson had uncovered."

Telford paused, running a hand over his mouth. "What did he tell you? That we forced him to do it?"

Young cocked his head, raising his eyebrows as he tried not to react to the sense of vertigo that motion produced.

"I'm _sure_ that's what he said." Telford spit the words disdainfully. "The fact was that he was the best candidate. _That's_ why I picked him for the project. He was the farthest along the spectrum that we'd encountered. Ever. Better even than John Sheppard, if you can believe it. The whole god damned lab lit up for him like he'd built the place."

God damn. What '_spectrum'_? Whatever it was, it must have something to do with Ancient genetics.

"He hated it," Young said quietly, hoping that Telford would keep talking.

"Of course he did," Telford spit out. "We _all_ hated it, Everett. It was disgusting, learning from Anubis. From _Anubis_ for god's sake. Dr. Jackson could barely sit through the briefings. But there was no point in pushing the Icarus project forward if we couldn't at least bring one person up to the minimum threshold requirements laid out in Dr. Jackson's text. It was pretty clear that the entire thing would have been a wasted effort. And he agreed to use the device. He _agreed_."

Young stared at him, blinking through the rising pain of his headache.

"Some things happened between us that I could have handled better," Telford admitted. "But you've survived as long as you have on this ship because of _me._ Because_ I_ pushed him. Without me, there would have been no access to Destiny's systems. You think a software buffer would have been enough to protect anyone else from contact with the neural interface? Not a chance in _hell_. So he can cast me as the villain in this story all he likes, but I had _reasons_ for what I did, Everett."

"You were _compromised_," Young snarled, "at the time that all of this was happening. What were you going to do with him when you had succeeded? Hand him over to the Lucian Alliance? To Kiva?"

Telford looked away. "With my help or without it, he was and _is_ always going to be a target for them. I would have protected him from Kiva."

"Yeah," Young said dryly, "I'm sure you would have done a bang up job of that."

"What did he say to you," Telford asked, "that you're so firmly on _his_ side now?"

"That's between me and him."

"It's a mistake to trust him. A mistake to _let him in_."

Young's headache was reaching unmanageable levels, and the ground had started to pitch beneath his feet. Though he hated to give up his line of questioning, he had to cut this short before he ended up collapsing on the floor or he lost Rush to the pull of the ship.

"Your time is up, David." Young said. "I have another meeting."

"You can't _dismiss_ me."

"I just did. But hey. Stay in this locked room by yourself for as long as you like."

Young pulled out his radio. "Sergeant," he said, "open the door please."

The door swished open.

"Everett," Telford said, advancing rapidly. "You can't do this."

Young half-turned in the doorway to face Telford, forcing his eyes to focus on the other man.

"Don't call us," he said. "We'll call you."

He hit the door controls, trapping the other man in the room. Gripping the wall, he advanced a few steps toward Greer and Rush, already feeling incrementally better.

"Hammer group," Greer snapped at Rush. "Come on. At this rate there's no _way_ you're gonna clear your _pathetic_ personal best of forty-seven seconds."

It took Young a moment to understand what it was he was looking at.

Greer and Rush were sitting on the floor, pieces of Greer's disassembled assault rifle scattered around them. The sergeant had both hands fisted in Rush's jacket, and was pulling him forward, half supporting him while the scientist vaguely attempted to _assemble_ a _gun_.

"My fourteen year old cousin is better at this than you are," Greer snapped. "Come on, Doc. Get with it. Optical sight group."

Young knelt next to them, and Greer shot him a relieved look. As Young put his hand on Rush's shoulder, the other man's motions sharpened abruptly. The butt plate and magazine came together in short order.

"Frame and trigger," Greer snapped. "You're already at thirty seconds."

"I'm aware of that," Rush responded testily, and Young saw Greer relax a bit further, slowly loosening his grip on the front of the scientist's jacket. Rush completed the assembly and Greer checked his watch. "Thirty four seconds," he said, "I could have killed you at least three times over."

"Congratulations," Rush said.

"You need to work on this. _Chloe_ is better than you. A _lot_ better."

"Are we done here?" Rush asked.

"For _now_," Greer said warningly.

"Thanks, sergeant," Young said quietly, as they helped Rush to his feet. "Telford and Scott should be switching back shortly, if they haven't already. Keep an eye out until you can confirm we've gotten Scott back." Greer nodded at him and moved to stand in front of the door.

Young turned to Rush, who was leaning against the wall of the corridor, eyes half shut. "Get anything useful?" the other man asked.

"You could say that," Young replied cautiously, deliberately pulling back slightly to keep his thoughts distant. He felt a small surge of guilt when Rush's eyes briefly lost focus and he shut them in an exaggerated blink.

"You wanted to check on Destiny's AI?"

Rush nodded, looking like he was about to fall over. "Control interface room," he said. "Unfortunately, I'll have to do this the long way."

"The _long_ way?" Young echoed, bending to pick up the other man's laptop.

"Via computer," Rush said, leaning heavily on his crutches as they walked along the hallways.

"As opposed to?"

"Without a computer," Rush said unhelpfully. "I doubt you'd get me back if I tried _that_ right now."

"Ah," Young said.

* * *

><p>It was three hours before Rush was satisfied that there had been no damage to Destiny's central processor. Young was fairly sure that it would have taken longer if Eli hadn't shown up midway through and volunteered his services. TJ had shown up around eighteen hundred hours and successfully gotten them both to eat dinner and managed to take Rush's blood pressure without too much of a fight.<p>

"Get him out of here as soon as you can," she had murmured to Young on her way out.

Young gave Rush another half-hour after TJ had left, primarily on principle, then leaned in to look over Rush's shoulder. "How's it going?" he asked finally.

"No damage," Rush murmured back to him, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. "None anywhere," he sounded perplexed.

"That sounds like a good thing," Young said covering a yawn.

"I don't believe it," Rush said distractedly.

"Why not?"

"Because I haven't seen her."

"Destiny?"

"Obviously."

"Don't you think that's because you're with me?" Young asked quietly.

"Maybe," Rush looked at him. "Hopefully."

"Come on," Young said. "You're dead on your feet and no good to anyone like this. We'll figure it out tomorrow."

"That's a terrible idea," Rush said, but when Young pulled him to his feet, he didn't resist. He grabbed Rush's left arm and pulled it across his shoulders, careful to avoid stressing the other man's injured wrist. "I'm fine," Rush told him.

"I know you are," Young said.

The walk back to Young's quarters was agonizing for both of them. When they finally got there, Rush was arguably not entirely conscious.

"I'll sleep on the floor," the scientist said.

"I don't think so," Young replied.

Rush half pulled away from him. "_I_ am not sleeping in _your_ bed."

"Okay, fine," Young said, dragging him back up. "Fair enough. You can have the floor, just—sit here for a minute while I look at your feet."

He forced Rush into a seated position on the bed and bent down to untie his boots, loosening the laces all the way before gently pulling them off. He checked quickly to make sure Rush hadn't bled through TJ's bandaging job. From there, it was extremely easy to sweep the other man's feet onto the bed and shove him back.

"No," Rush murmured.

"Yes," Young said. "It's happening. Deal with it."

Young took off his own boots and jacket before lying down beside him, carefully keeping the maximum possible distance between them.

Despite his bone-deep exhaustion, it took him some time to fall asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes: **This chapter contains an allusion to T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land," and to the movie "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid."

* * *

><p>When Young awoke the next morning, Rush was already up, sitting hunched on the edge of the bed, glasses on. He had his fingers hooked over his left shoulder and was absently rubbing the base of his neck.<p>

His thoughts were a transparent swirl of images—a gray landscape beside the sea where Gloria, backlit in front of a window, made a dark silhouette against the terrible monotony of the sky; a room, full of numbers—on papers, on whiteboards, on windows.

Clear as the images were, the connections between them and the significance behind them remained obscure.

Rush felt the sudden intrusion into his thoughts and looked over to give Young a fractional nod. "Our—" the scientist broke off, his brief difficulty with switching from thinking in Ancient to speaking in English surprising both of them. His brows knitted as he made a quick hand gesture that indicated a circle cut by a line. "Radius. Our radius is improving."

"Really," Young said dryly. "You just had to push it, didn't you?"

"Of course." Rush smirked slightly. "We're at about five meters now."

Young raised his eyebrows.

"Well," Rush admitted, "that's the upper limit. A solid four meters though. Enough for me to brush my teeth in splendid fucking isolation."

"That's a good sign, I suppose."

Rush shrugged, looking away.

Young considered him. The scientist continued to make an attempt to ineffectively rub his neck with a wrist held forcibly straight by TJ's bent-metal splint. He seemed uncomfortable, desperate to avoid Young's gaze.

"Rush," Young said quietly. "I'm sorry about this. I'm sure there are places that you'd rather wake up, but you essentially collapsed last night, and I was not about to leave you on the floor."

"It's fine," Rush murmured. "Thank you."

Young raised his eyebrows.

"What?" Rush said, glancing at him for the first time. "I'm familiar with the concept of politeness on more than just theoretical grounds."

"Are you—" Young broke off, not sure how to continue. He sat up. "How are you doing with all of this?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Rush."

Rush looked over at him, a twisted, half-amused smile flashing quickly over his features. "You actually give a damn, don't you?" he looked away. "I can feel it."

"I do," Young said quietly.

"You shouldn't," Rush said, the words eerily calm.

"Why not?" Young asked.

"Look, Colonel Young, I understand that you're concerned," Rush said, and Young winced slightly at the use of his title. This was the other man at his most icily professional; his tone caused Young to flash back to his time on Icarus. Every interaction he'd had with the other man had been just like this—always distant, with Rush clearly in possession of more knowledge than he was willing to share. "But frankly," Rush continued, "I'm not about to candidly discuss my mental state with someone who has, on so many occasions, deliberately tried to cause me harm."

Young tried to prevent his temper from getting the better of him. "That statement cuts both ways."

"True," Rush admitted. "I attempted to get you replaced by framing you for murder. I then orchestrated a mutiny against your command with a secret secondary agenda of _preventing the destruction of this ship_ in the inevitable battle with the aliens responsible for taking Chloe. I cracked the command code and had control of Destiny for _months_ before anyone even _figured it out_." Rush smiled a humorless, bitter smile. "Not the most collegial behavior, I'll grant you."

"What's your point?" Young asked abruptly, hoping to prevent an enumeration of his own previous transgressions.

"We can coexist," Rush said quietly, "but I will never trust you. And you have never and _will_ _never_ trust me. So don't ask me to talk to you about what this is like for me. If I have tactically relevant information, I will share it with you. Otherwise—" he broke off with an abortive hand gesture, his meaning clear.

"I get that. I do." Young paused. "But, like it or not, we're in this together. Literally."

Rush shrugged noncommittally.

"Look, I know that Destiny is constantly draining your energy even as its AI tries to protect you. I know that it doesn't just tire you out to fight the ship; it _hurts_ you. Maybe it's even killing you. You don't seem to care, though. You don't seem to think it matters _at all_, which makes me wonder what's waiting for us when we reach this energy breakwater that we're heading toward."

Rush was quiet for a moment before he spoke. "I don't know what you're implying," he said, his voice barely audible, his mind a distressed swirl. "But if you think that I would—" he broke off, brows pulling together in pained incredulity, "that I would _ever_ leave the crew here when—" Rush looked away, his mind falling away from Young and toward Destiny, which, this time, wasn't a darkness but a searing white light of projected memory and desire that Young could not deconstruct.

It was beautiful.

Beautiful and terrifying.

"_Rush_," Young snapped, his hands coming up to grip the other man's shoulders as he ruthlessly pulled him away from the ship. "I'm not _accusing_ you of anything. I want you to tell me what's going on. I want to _help _you."

Rush's eyes were closed.

"Let me help you," Young repeated.

Young's radio crackled, breaking the silence. "Colonel, this is Lieutenant Scott, please respond."

"Damn it," Young whispered, letting Rush go.

"Go ahead," he said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.

Rush dropped his head, his fingers digging into his temples as if he could hold himself steady with just his hands.

"We've got something of an emergency in one of the newly accessible labs. Apparently a machine got turned on? No word yet on what it might be doing."

Young sighed, his eyes still on Rush. "Any thoughts?" he asked the scientist quietly, not sure if he was going to get a response.

"I have to see it. I'm not omniscient." Rush's tone was deliberately wry, a thin veneer over the conflict that Young could still feel in the back of his mind.

Young let Rush keep his paper-thin layer of normalcy. "Such modesty," he responded, his chest tight.

"I'm on my way." Young replied to Scott.

Rush's radio went off. "Dr. Rush, this is Brody, please respond."

"Yes," Rush snapped. "I'm already aware. Who turned it on?"

"Volker and I," Brody said, his tone carrying a hint of apology.

"Don't touch anything until I get there. Anything _else_."

"Just so you know—it's building up some kind of charge."

"Of course it is," Rush said dryly to Young as he stood, recovering some of his usual animation.

"You sure you're up for this?" Young asked him. "I can get Eli to look into it instead."

Rush just shot him a disgusted glare and started for the door.

It took them six minutes to make it to the lab in question. As they rounded the doorway, they saw Brody, Volker, and Eli positioned in front of a monitor bank a few feet away from a device that appeared to be built into the flat surface of a table-like structure.

Greer and Scott hovered slightly to the left of the doorway, eyes fixed watchfully on the blue glyphs that had appeared, lit from beneath, in the surface of the device.

"Hi," Eli said as they approached. "Before you say anything, this was _not_ my fault."

Rush shot him a skeptical look over the rims of his glasses.

"Okay, maybe if I hadn't tried to cut the power buildup by removing it from Destiny's internal grid we would still have access to the actual interface, which _you_ could have probably used to turn the thing off, but—"

"But?" Rush echoed.

"But I wasn't the one who turned it on."

"Yes yes," Rush said absently, narrowing his eyes in Volker's direction before switching his focus back to Eli. "Access to the primary interface is blocked?"

"Force field," Eli confirmed.

Young trailed Rush closely as he walked over to examine the device. The scientist stopped directly in front of the primary interface panel and cautiously lowered his hand toward its glowing surface. As the metal of Rush's makeshift wrist brace approached the field, it flared to life, a small visible portion of it swirling angrily beneath his hand right before the point of contact.

/?/ Young shot him a wordless question.

/I thought I might be exempt,/ Rush explained.

/Exempt from a _force field_?/

Rush ignored him, ducking around the back of the machine to look for an access panel. He ran his fingers deftly over the surface and found the concealed release. The panel fell into his waiting hands, exposing blue glowing circuitry. He moved it to the side and sat down awkwardly, trying not to stress his feet. Young dropped into a crouch next to him, eyeing the back of the device.

/Do me a favor and go watch the monitors while I do this./

/That's pushing it,/ Young replied. /It's going to be about twelve feet. Maybe more./

/Our time is limited. We don't want this thing discharging, I can guarantee you that./

"Fair enough," Young murmured, gripping Rush's shoulder to lever himself back to his feet.

/What am I looking for?/

/_You're_ not looking for anything. _I _ am going to be watching them. While I fix this./

Young's head was pounding by the time he made it as far as the monitor bank. Greer, he noticed, without being asked, had slowly moved over to take up a position immediately next to Rush. Young gave him a subtle nod before turning his eyes to the readouts that Rush wanted him to monitor.

/Are you getting this?/ he projected as forcefully as he could at the other man.

/Mostly,/ Rush replied, his mental projection distant but steady.

"How's it going?" Eli called over to Rush. "You haven't made a dent in the power buildup yet."

"It's been, what, less than three minutes?" Rush snapped back.

"Well, I just ask because it's starting to level off."

"What does that mean?" Young asked, blinking painfully at Eli.

"That it's probably going to do whatever it is that it does."

"Rush," Young snapped, "get back over here."

/One moment./

"Greer," Young snapped, "pull him back _now_."

As Greer reached down, his hand fisting in the loose material of Rush's jacket, the device flared to life, a blue-white glow abruptly flash-blinding everyone.

* * *

><p><strong>Loop 1, 0 minutes:<strong>

Young opened his eyes to see that Rush was already up, hunched on the edge of the bed, fully dressed down to his boots. The scientist's hands were twisted in the bedsheets, his head raised, his eyes wide and raking the walls in random, distressed patterns.

He looked like he had just dosed himself with amphetamines—wired out of his mind and not entirely stable.

"Hey," Young said cautiously, "anything wrong?"

Rush twisted to look at him, hair falling across his glasses, searching his expression for something.

"What time is it?" Rush asked intently, as if something critical depended on his answer.

Young looked at his watch, his brows knitting together. "Oh eight hundred and forty seven minutes. Why?"

Rush stared at him, waiting for something.

"Are you okay?" Young asked, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. "You don't look—"

"What's the last thing that you remember?" Rush interrupted him shortly.

"Falling asleep?" Young said, brows knitting.

"Fuck." Rush spit out the word, surging to his feet. "I'm going to _murder_ them."

"Whoa," Young said, "hold up."

Rush had picked up his radio. "Eli," he snapped. "Eli come in." Rush waited less than one second before adding, "Eli, respond to me _right now_."

"Yeah, I missed you too," Eli said, "and as much as I would like to listen to you yell at me about whatever is bothering you right now? Turns out we're kinda busy over here. We just discovered a piece of equipment that seems to just be _on_. And doing something. Building a charge maybe?"

"Tell me you remember the last fifteen minutes," Rush snapped, "tell me you remember that device discharging."

"Umm," Eli said slowly. "So on the insanity scale? You're at about an eight right now, just so you know."

/I'll second that,/ Young said, trying to project calm into the agitated swirl of Rush's thoughts. /What is going on?/

Rush was staring at his radio.

"Crazy or not, we could use your help though," Eli said, "so get down here."

"Rush," Young said quietly. "What's happening?"

Rush sent him a quick series of mental images of a device that looked like it had been built into metal table. Blue glyphs glowed on its surface before a searing light exploded outward and Rush had found himself back in Young's quarters.

/Was I supposed to understand that?/

/We're operating in different frames of reference, you and I./ The man was clearly beside himself, and Young was hit with a gridded three-dimensional mental projection, which had moving objects passing through it. /T(b)-T(a) does _not_ fucking equal T(b)'-T(a)'./

Something about this equation seemed to disproportionately upset the scientist.

/Okay,/ Young said, still trying to project as much calm as possible.

/We're _not temporally synchronized_,/ Rush continued, nearly hyperventilating, obviously trying to calm himself down enough to explain it to Young. /Time is a reversible coordinate, in the same manner as space, and fucking _Volker_ just reset everyone but _me_ by roughly fifteen minutes./

Rush was trying to pace the room in a pained, aborted manner that was extremely difficult to watch.

/You're not making sense,/ Young projected gently. /Just—sit down, and let's talk about this./

/Not making sense? _Did I stop speaking English_? I'm so happy we're _linked_ and we can't fucking _separate_./

/Not helpful./

/You are stuck in some kind of repeating temporal pattern. You're reliving a fifteen to twenty minute segment of time. I however, for some as yet unknown reason, am _not_./

Young looked dubiously at the other man. /Look, you've been under a lot of stress lately, I know it probably seems to _you_ like—/

/Give me your watch./

/You need to calm down,/ Young said reasonably.

"Give me your watch, damn it, and let's _go_," Rush said. His voice was strained and he was standing with his hand outstretched. "You're wasting time."

Young slowly unbuckled his watch from his wrist.

"Come on, come on—this is _intolerable_," Rush said. The scientist tried to snap his fingers, but was prevented by the wrist brace he wore.

Before Young had finished pulling his boots and jacket on, Rush was out the door, pushing the distance between them to its maximum extent.

Young caught up with him easily, and they made it to the lab in question in five minutes. Brody, Volker, and Eli had positioned themselves in front of a monitor bank a few feet away from the same table-like device that he had seen in Rush's mental projection.

Scott hovered slightly to the left of the doorway, his eyes fixed watchfully on the blue glyphs that had appeared, lit from behind in the surface of the device.

Rush blew by the science team without even glancing at them, heading toward the back of the device.

"Hi," Eli called after him, "nice to see you too, thanks for your input."

"Were you working on this, by any chance?" Volker asked.

Rush shot Volker a livid glare before dropping into a crouch.

"So I guess that would be a 'no'?" Volker asked slowly.

"What happened?" Young asked, standing halfway between the science team and the device itself, trying to curb his headache.

"We found it like this," Brody said, looking over Eli's shoulder, glancing at Young. "Someone must have turned it on."

/So _was_ this you?/ Young shot at Rush, edging closer to the other man. /Did you turn this thing on in the last loop, or whatever we're calling this?/

/That question is so colossally stupid that I'm tempted not to respond, but those kinds of thing seem to go over your head, so _no_, of course it wasn't fucking _me_. When this device was activated, _I_ was sitting _uselessly _in _your_ quarters, _not_ talking about my feelings, and getting accused of some poorly defined plan to fuck over the entire crew. Just what exactly is it about me that you find so god damned untrustworthy?/

/I think you're overreacting,/ Young projected back at him, not entirely clear on most of what Rush was referring to, but fairly certain that the scientist was working himself up to the point that he wasn't thinking clearly.

Movement in his peripheral vision drew his gaze and he looked over to see Greer appear in the doorway, an unsettled expression on his face, his assault rifle slung across his chest.

"Sergeant?" Young asked.

"Sir, I know how this is gonna sound, but I think—" Greer compressed his lips. "I think that _thing_," Greer said, pointing with two fingers at the table, "may have already gone off."

Before Young could respond, he felt Rush's head snap up, a wave of relief flooding through their link. "Sergeant," Rush called, leaning out from behind the device. "You remember what happened?"

"I do," Greer confirmed grimly. "I thought I was the only one."

"Here," Rush said, tossing Greer the watch he had borrowed from Young. "We need to determine two things: how long the loop is, and whether we can effect lasting changes other than to this machine. Do you have a knife?"

Greer looked uncertainly at Young.

"Why do you need a _knife_?" Young asked Rush.

"So I can fucking cut open an artery and put myself out of my god damned _misery_, all right?"

"Settle down."

"Fuck you. Fuck all of you. Greer, give me that knife."

Greer pulled out his knife and walked a few paces over to where Rush was sitting, elbows-deep in the back panel of the device. "You didn't say _please_," Greer said quietly, dropping into a crouch and handing Rush the blade, handle first.

Rush grabbed the knife, and quickly used it to slice through the taped portions of each of his wrist braces.

/Is that a good idea?/ Young sent dubiously. /Don't you _need_ those?/

Rush ignored him as he carefully used the knife to make a short, shallow cut at the base of his palm before handing it to Young. "Do the same," he demanded.

"And this is supposed to prove what, exactly?" Young said, making a small scratch on his hand before returning the knife to Greer.

"Whether there's physical reset when the device discharges. If our reference frames are really discontinuous but colocalized, yours will be gone and mine won't."

"Power is leveling off," Eli called out.

"Time," Rush snapped at Greer.

"Sixteen minutes, fifty eight—"

Young shut his eyes against the awful flare of blue-white light that seared his retinas.

* * *

><p><strong>Loop 2, 0 minutes:<strong>

"God _damn_ it," Rush yelled, waking Young up as he sent one of his crutches hurtling into the wall. "Seventeen minutes is _too short_." He spun to face the bed. "Hold out your hand," he demanded.

"Are you _insane_?" Young asked him.

"Getting there," Rush said grimly, grabbing Young's left hand and turning it over. He placed his own left hand, palm up next to Young's. Rush had a small cut at the base of his palm and, Young noticed, had somehow managed to lose his wrist braces.

"I knew it," Rush murmured incomprehensibly.

* * *

><p><strong>Loop 3, 11 minutes<strong>:

"Rush," Greer said, as they entered the room. "Eleven minutes? You've gotta be faster if you're going to fix this thing."

"I'm aware of that," Rush snapped back at him. "_You_ try explaining this to him, next time."

Young crossed his arms, glaring at Rush. "You didn't say anything about Greer being outside the loop as well."

"Thanks for pointing that out. I'll be sure to mention it when I explain it to you _again_ in _six_ _minutes_."

"Sorry to interrupt your argument guys," Eli said, "but I'm reading that Destiny is actually significantly displaced from our calculated course. We're over eight hundred million kilometers ahead of where we should be."

"Oh look," Rush said, "independent verification that I'm _not_ having nervous breakdown. How nice."

"Rush," Young growled, rapidly loosing patience with the other man.

"Just fix the damn thing before we drop out of FTL," Greer said.

"Very helpful, sergeant, thank you. I'm so glad that we're getting this chance to work together. Where would I be without your _brilliant_ _insights_."

/Stay focused,/ Young shot at Rush. /And stop antagonizing the one guy who's going to remember everything you say./

"Where do you _get off_ being such an _asshole_?" Greer asked.

"Right, as if you're some kind of paragon of virtue."

Greer crossed the space between them in three quick strides and dropped into a crouch immediately next to Rush, grabbing his jacket to half twist him around.

Young stepped forward, ready to intervene.

"I'm not," Greer hissed at him. "And I know it. I've lived through some fucked up shit, okay? And I'll bet my _fruit ration_ that you have too. So if you can't respect _anything_ else about me, at least respect that I still fucking get up in the morning to protect _your_ ass, and everyone else's from the Lucian Alliance, from flesh eating bugs, from fucking creepy fungus monsters, okay? It's the only thing we have in common."

Rush stared at Greer.

The sergeant released him and stepped back. "So _fix_ the goddamn thing, will you?"

"Working on it," Rush replied.

* * *

><p><strong>Loop 4, 2 minutes:<strong>

"Look, if what you're saying is true, why are you sitting here, with me, and not with this device?" Young asked, trying to keep his tone reasonable. "It's not that I don't believe you—"

He was interrupted by a knock on his door. "It's Greer," he heard over the intercom.

"Come," he said without thinking. Rush tensed.

"Colonel, look, I know how this is going to sound—" Greer strode into the room, expression grim. He glanced over at Rush, and then paused, doing a double take as he took in the scientist, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Rush looked up at them both over the tops of his glasses, his hair in his eyes.

"Um, this is more than I wanted to know," Greer said, looking half uncomfortable, half amused.

"Glad you're enjoying this," Rush snapped at him. "We're not sleeping together."

"Really, because it kinda looks like you are."

"Okay _technically_, yes, we slept in close _proximity_, but that is _not_ the same thing."

"Good times," Greer said.

"Do I look like I am having an even _remotely_ good time?"

"Not really, no."

Young stared at them. For a few seconds no one said anything. Finally Young cleared his throat. "So, um, time loop?"

* * *

><p><strong>Loop 6, 16 minutes:<strong>

Young stood with his arms crossed, a few feet away from Rush. Through their link he could feel frustration and anxiety rolling off the other man. Rush was leaning forward at an awkward angle, Greer positioned behind him with a flashlight.

Absently, Young massaged his aching wrists, knowing that it wouldn't do anything for the pain.

This wasn't going to work.

There was too much explaining, too much time wasted, and not enough time for Rush to work.

This loop he'd gotten in seven minutes with the device, which, when you were trying to repair a piece of Ancient technology that you'd never seen before, really wasn't much time.

The problem was that neither Rush nor Greer were very good at explaining things in a concise, trustworthy manner that didn't make them sound, well, _insane_.

"Hey," Young said, "I know you're on the clock, but I have a suggestion for next time."

"What," Rush snapped darkly.

"I think the situation is grave enough that you two should consider playing to your strengths," Young said, not without a little trepidation.

"Twenty seconds," Greer said.

Young pulled out his handgun and handed it to an astonished Rush. "Don't make me sorry I suggested this to either of you." He gave them both a hard look.

* * *

><p><strong>Loop 7, 0 minutes:<strong>

Young opened his eyes to find Rush holding a sidearm to his head.

"Really sorry about this," Rush said, looking not sorry at all, and in fact, slightly pleased. "But we've got to go."

* * *

><p><strong>Loop 8, 6 minutes<strong>:

"Okay people," Greer yelled, forcing a round into the chamber of his weapon, "this is a _time loop_. We're trying to fix it, but we've only got eleven minutes before the loop resets. So, in order to increase efficiency, we're going to implement the following policies. Number one—no one moves. Number two—no one talks to Rush."

Greer motioned Young over to join the science team and Lieutenant Scott before taking up a position in front of Rush.

"Time loop?" Eli asked. "You made that up."

"We're in asynchronous reference frames, or something, okay?" Greer said, eyes flicking from Eli to Rush as the scientist dropped awkwardly into a seated position.

Young pressed one hand to his head, fighting a headache.

"Yeah, _that_ sounds legit," Eli snapped.

/This was _your_ idea, wasn't it?/ Young shot testily at Rush, trying to ignore the horrible tearing sensation in his feet. /I don't know _how_ you convinced Greer to go along with this./

/No talking,/ Rush snapped back at him.

* * *

><p><strong>Loop 14, 14 minutes:<strong>

"Sorry about this, Doc," Greer said quietly, hands held palm outward, looking calmly at Lieutenant Scott, who was holding a handgun pointed directly at his face.

"You start taking civilian hostages and screwing around with Ancient technology and _then_ you're apologizing to _him_?" Young snarled at Greer.

Greer didn't even _look_ at him. He was watching _Rush_.

"Stop it," Young snapped, struggled to restrain the scientist without hurting him. That was becoming increasingly difficult, as the man seemed to be determined to try and twist out of the shoulder lock that Young had him in.

/_Stop it_,/ he sent at Rush, practically sitting on the scientist's lower back, one hand maintaining the shoulder-lock, while the other hand pressed down on the back of the scientist's neck.

"Rush," Greer said insistently. "_Rush_, it's not worth it, man. You're gonna blow out your shoulder and for what? For three minutes? Just let it go."

Beneath his hands, Rush relaxed slowly, a tremor tearing across his back.

* * *

><p><strong>Loop 15, 0 minutes:<strong>

Young woke up as Rush lay down beside him on the bed.

"Hey," Young said quietly. "Are you okay?"

There was a terrible ache in the other man's shoulder and wrists, and his feet felt like they had been torn apart.

Rush didn't reply.

Young sat up, gently placing a hand on the scientist's shoulder, wondering where Rush's wrist braces had gone and why he was wearing his boots and holding—

Wait a minute.

Was that _his_ sidearm?

"I think," Rush said incomprehensibly, "if were weren't linked, my location wouldn't be resetting. But it has to, because _your _location resets."

"I'm calling TJ," Young said.

"Don't do that," Rush said tiredly. "Just wait for Greer."

"I am _definitely_—"

Young was interrupted by a knock on the door. He stood to open it.

Greer was standing in the hallway, looking harassed.

"Sergeant? What can I do for you?"

"Can I come in?"

"Now is not a good time."

"What's wrong with him?" Greer asked, suddenly concerned. The sergeant stepped forward, coming just short of actually pushing past Young as he ducked around him to get into the room.

Rush hadn't moved—he was still lying on his back, the hand with Young's sidearm trailing on the floor.

"I think I need to take a loop off," Rush said, as Greer dropped to a seated position next to the bed.

"Yeah," Greer agreed, "I think maybe you do. We need to eat anyway. It's what, almost thirteen hundred hours?"

"What the hell is going on here?" Young asked them.

* * *

><p><strong>Loop 16, 0 minutes:<strong>

Young awoke to find Rush staring at him, a handgun resting against his left shoulder. Young half sat up, and Rush tightened his grip on the weapon and pointed it directly at him in a sort of exhausted, half-hearted manner.

"We have to go," Rush said.

Young didn't reply.

He considered several possible ways of disarming the other man, all of which seemed unnecessarily violent. Finally, he settled on slowly reaching forward and closing his hand over Rush's, gently prying the weapon from the other man's unresisting grip.

Rush sighed. "It wasn't loaded anyway. It never was."

* * *

><p><strong>Loop 20, 10 minutes:<strong>

Greer helped Rush sit, one hand fisted in the front of the scientist's jacket, one hand beneath his elbow.

"You promised me an explanation," Young said, standing over Rush.

"And you'll get it," Greer answered, stepping into Young's personal space, forcing him back a pace, away from Rush, "but right now, he needs to work. Trust me on this one."

Young backed off slightly, touching Rush's mind with a wordless question.

He got a short, equally wordless dismissal as Rush's thoughts rolled darkly along, an obscure mixture of circuit diagrams and Ancient phrases.

"Okay people," Greer said tiredly, arms crossed over his chest, sounding like he was reciting a rehearsed speech, "This is a time loop. Rush and I are operating in an asynchronous temporal reference frame relative to your own, which resets every seventeen minutes as this device discharges. The two of us, along with Destiny are still passing through space-time in a normal manner. You all," Greer said, fingers tightening against the shoulder strap of his weapon, "are stuck. If you want to verify what we're saying, check Destiny's current position."

"We're almost six hours off," Eli said, looking up at Young from where he stood behind the monitors. "What happens if we drop out of FTL?"

"Why is it just you guys who aren't resetting?" Volker asked.

"Has anyone checked the cumulative power drain?" Brody added.

"What caused this _in the first place_?" Young demanded, his already fraying patience snapping entirely.

Greer sighed, glancing over at Rush.

"Welcome to my life," Rush said, sparing him a brief glance in return.

"I feel," Greer said, looking at the ceiling in obvious aggravation, "like maybe I'm starting to get where you're coming from."

* * *

><p><strong>Loop 21, 10 minutes:<strong>

"Okay people, this is a—" Greer broke off midsentence. "You know what? Fuck it." He unslung his assault rifle from his shoulder and pointed it at Young and the science team. "No talking," he said.

"What the _hell_?" Eli asked.

"I _said_, no talking."

"I thought we agreed that guns were not the best plan. Remember nearly getting shot in the face?" Rush said, not taking his eyes off the device. "There's no reset for _you_."

"Whatever," Greer replied.

"Please," Rush said. "Don't get shot."

* * *

><p><strong>Loop 24, 5 minutes:<strong>

"We _already_ explained it to you," Greer said, half dragging Rush down the corridor, the scientist's right arm pulled over his shoulders, Greer's left hand wrapped around his waist. "Over _twenty_ times. You're just going to have to trust us."

"Never going to happen," Rush commented breathlessly.

"And _you_," Greer said, "stop being such a god damned pain in the ass."

"But I'm so good at it."

"You've got me there," Greer said.

Young looked at them walking in tandem, in a practiced manner like they had, indeed, done this countless times.

He felt like _he_ was the one out of sync, not the two of them.

In the back of his mind he could feel Rush struggling against Destiny and tried to help him, grounding him as much as possible.

"I trust you," he said. "I trust both of you."

They eyed him warily.

* * *

><p><strong>Loop 25, 0 minutes:<strong>

Young opened his eyes to see Rush sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched and exhausted-looking in the unusually dim light.

"Rush?" Young said, pushing himself to a seated position.

"We have to go," Rush murmured, eyes half-closed. "Just—trust me on this one."

From the other man's mind, Young was getting almost nothing but pain.

"Rush, you're in no shape—"

/Please./ Rush said. /I need your help./

The scientist had his eyes shut. His head was bowed. He didn't look at Young, just waited for his answer. Young reached down and grabbed his boots, noting absently that Rush already had his on.

/All right. Where are we going?/

Rush didn't respond in words; instead he shot Young an image of a device—of blue glowing circuitry exposed, of a soft electric hum that increased slowly in intensity.

"Greer's coming," Rush said quietly, only a few seconds before Young heard someone pounding on his door.

A chill shot down his spine at the sound and he looked at Rush in incredulity.

Opening the door revealed that it was, in fact, Greer.

"Can I come in?" Greer was leaning against the doorframe, one hand resting on his rifle in a pose both exhausted and truculent.

"Be my guest," Young said, backing up a step. "I hear we're going somewhere?"

"Yup," Greer said sounding relieved, walking a few steps past Young over to where Rush was sitting. "Look at you, Doc," he said, as he pulled the scientist up. "That was quick. No handgun or anything. It only took you twenty-five tries to get it right."

"Oh shut up," Rush replied.

* * *

><p><strong>Loop 27, 12 minutes:<strong>

"Okay people," Greer said, unslinging his weapon from his shoulder. "This is a time loop, and we're trying to fix it for you, but we're _fucking tired_, so just keep your questions to yourselves for five minutes, okay?"

Although no overt threat had been made, Greer's stance and relaxed grip on his weapon combined to suggest that he would not hesitate to head in that direction if the situation required it.

Young frowned, rubbing his jaw.

He could feel Rush struggling to stay focused through his exhaustion. Fighting the pull of the ship was taking up too much of his energy.

Young stepped forward, next to Greer. The sergeant looked at him sharply, his expression full of warning.

"I think I can help him," Young said, voice too quiet to be heard by anyone other than Greer.

"He needs to focus," Greer murmured back, his entire stance forbidding.

"He can't keep doing this forever," Young said.

"I know that," Greer said quietly. "I know that better than anyone. I've been with him this entire time."

"So let me help him," Young murmured.

Greer looked at him evenly, considering.

"For the love of god," Rush snapped, "stop posturing and get over here."

* * *

><p><strong>Loop 28, 14 minutes:<strong>

Young knelt behind Rush, the palm of his hand pressing into Rush's back, right between his shoulder blades, over his spine. As he watched, the scientist finished stripping the jumper wire that he had cannibalized from somewhere else inside the device.

"Greer," Rush said, his voice slightly hoarse, "I think this is going to work."

"That's what you said twelve loops ago."

"Yes, well—" Rush uncuffed his jacket sleeve, and brought the material down over his fingers.

"If this doesn't work, we're taking the next loop off," Greer said, sparing a concerned glance in Rush's direction.

"It will work," Rush said. He deftly connected one end of the wire to an exposed circuit, then paused.

/Let go of me,/ he projected at Young as he grabbed one of his boots and brought it across his lap, looking carefully at the sole.

"Doc, what the hell are you doing?" Greer asked him. "There's only three minutes left."

"I'm trying to make sure I'm not going to kill myself, if that's all right with you," Rush snapped back. "I'm going to short this thing out, which is not entirely without risk."

"Well, shit," Greer said.

Rush leaned forward and bent his knees, pulling his feet underneath him in a crouch. He hissed softly through clenched teeth as he balanced, slowly transferring his weight from fingertips to feet. With their barrier entirely down, Young felt a wave of nausea sweep over him at the tearing sensation as muscles separated over cracked bone.

"Rush," he said quietly, the other man's name an agonized, incredulous admonishment.

"Don't touch me," the scientist murmured, his intonation rising, the reminder almost sympathetic.

Finally balanced on the insulated soles of his boots, Rush reached forward, fingertips protected by the sleeve of his jacket, and carefully moved the wire into place.

A plasma arc formed, brief and blue, burning out an arch in Young's retinas.

Rush jerked back, overbalancing, falling out of his crouch as the entire internal circuitry of the device flared a brilliant blue-white.

Together, Young and Greer dragged Rush back toward the nearest wall.

The lighting in the room flickered as Ancient symbols projected over the ceiling in ghostly relief, and the metal of the device itself began to glow with an pale white heat.

"You _overloaded it_," Eli yelled in their direction from the other side of the room.

"I can see that, Eli, thank you," Rush yelled back.

The electrical whine in the air had reached an intolerable level.

Rush was between Young and the device, a dark silhouette against the blue. Hair falling into his eyes, he yanked back his jacket sleeve to expose his hand and pressed it down to the deck plating just as the device went critical with a blinding flare.

The explosion was deafening, and Young tensed, waiting for the impact of debris.

It never came.

When he opened his eyes, there was a devastated twist of blackened metal where the device had been and a perfectly defined radius of debris that extended a good eight feet into the room on all sides.

At the border of the debris-line, a force field flickered in and out of the visible spectrum, extending up from the deck plating to the ceiling. At its base, Rush was kneeling, his right hand outstretched, just barely in contact with the edge of the field.

"Well shit, Doc," Greer said from beside him.

"Yes," Rush breathed out, pushing back and turning to face them. "For a moment there, I thought we were in trouble."


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes: **Just so no one is caught unawares, this chapter deserves its M rating. There's a very intense scene near the end. In my opinion, it doesn't really fall into any of the more typical warning classes, but proceed with care, as it could be triggering. This chapter takes some inspiration from the song "The Funeral" by Band of Horses.

* * *

><p>The science team stood around the nearly unrecognizable device, its black and twisted remains still enclosed by the force field that Rush had managed to throw up in the nick of time. Greer was on his feet, eyes darting watchfully between the field and Rush, who was sitting a few feet away from the glowing energy barrier, leaning unsteadily on one arm.<p>

Young looked at him, fighting a sense of exasperated anxiety and bizarrely, also trying to keep a lid on an inappropriate pride in the other man which, he was sure he had _no business_ feeling.

"Hope that thing wasn't important," Brody said.

"And—this force field came from where now?" Eli asked, shooting an incisive glance at Rush.

Rush gave him a haughty stare in return, or as haughty as he could manage from the floor at Eli's feet. "Destiny is capable of containing instrumentation overloads. It's a basic safety protocol."

"Yeah, to seal off the _room_," Eli said, "not create a force field from _nothing_, with a radius _just_ large enough to protect everyone."

"Don't be ridiculous," Rush said, shaking his hair out of his eyes. "Electromagnetic fields aren't generated from '_nothing_.' They—" he broke off, blinking slowly, and then shook his head briefly as if to clear it. "They're created by unequal charge distribution or a changing magnetic field, which—"

"Oh, I'm good with the physics 101, thanks" Eli said. "But I'm pretty darn sure that there's no mechanical basis for creating unequal charge distribution _or_ a changing magnetic field in the confines of _this circle_. The walls have the ability to hold or disperse charge in certain places, but—"

"What's your point, Eli?" Young asked, stepping forward to catch the young man's eye, his tone forbidding.

"It's obvious that—"

Young glared at him.

"Obvious that Destiny is just, um, really neat."

"Yes," Young said. "Yes it is. Okay people, I want this room sealed off for now, and _no more exploring_ until I give the go ahead. Am I clear?"

He got nods all around before he finally turned and knelt down next to Rush.

"All right there, Cassidy?" Young asked wryly, grabbing the scientist's upper arm to steady him. Rush winced as he did so, and through their link, Young got a sharp stab of pain. "What happened?" he asked, abruptly letting go.

"_Someone_ nearly dislocated my shoulder."

Young grimaced.

He had little doubt regarding the identity of the offending party.

He tried to clamp down on a surge of self-recrimination but he knew from the way Rush rolled his eyes that the scientist had picked up at least some of the guilt he was feeling.

"Admittedly, I had taken you hostage with your own handgun at that point, so all things considered, your response was actually quite restrained."

Young looked at him steadily, trying to assess whether he was being serious.

"Oh yeah," Greer confirmed, dropping down into a crouch next to them. "It definitely happened."

Greer and Rush smirked at one another.

Young eyed the pair of them dubiously as he rubbed his jaw, trying not to jostle his still-splinted fingers. "How many—" he broke off, making a circular motion with his hand to indicate temporal loops, or whatever it was that they were going to be calling them.

"Twenty eight," Greer said quietly to Young, his eyes flicking away from Rush to make sure Young was clear on the implication. "That was almost eight hours and probably a good _seven miles_ of walking."

"Sergeant," Young said. "Go on ahead. Bring TJ up to speed on what happened. For all she knows, it's still nine hundred hours. We'll meet you there as soon as we can."

Greer nodded, slapping Rush on the back as he shot to his feet. The scientist grimaced.

"Looks like you made a new friend," Young said dryly.

"Despite my best efforts, I assure you."

"All right," Young said, watching the scientist's eyes drift shut. "Let's get you out of here."

"Don't even _think_ about it," Rush snapped as his eyes flew open, sensing from the change in Young's position that he was about to get picked up off the floor.

Young sighed. "Yeah yeah."

Their progress toward the infirmary was every bit as slow and agonizing as Young expected. He had no choice but to block a significant portion of the sensory input he was receiving from the other man in order to stay on his _own_ feet. This, of course, made it increasingly difficult for Rush to maintain his coordination and, more alarmingly, his coherency.

Young could hear his thoughts slipping in and out of Ancient.

"This would be so much easier for both of us if you would just let someone carry you," Young commented, as he relieved Rush of his left crutch and pulled the scientist's arm over his shoulders.

"Vos tendo is. Vos animadverto quis venio."

"That was a threat, wasn't it? You're too out of it to even speak English and you're _still_ being a pain in the ass. God you're a lot of work."

Rush sighed.

At about the halfway point on their walk to the infirmary, they passed the chair room.

They had just come even with the door when it hissed open, startling both of them.

Rush slowed.

Young pulled him forward, catching a flash of the chair in his peripheral vision as he did so, and—

They stopped in tandem in front of the door.

His mouth was dry.

His palms were damp.

The desire to enter the room was _overwhelming_.

It was beautiful, lit up with an ethereal glow in the surrounding dark.

How was it possible that he had never noticed its graceful lines, its prepossessing contours.

It was elegant.

Perfect.

Made so by its function—a gateway to knowledge, a means to penetrate the vacuum of space to know what lay beneath.

Destiny was there, buried deep within the interface. It was where she had waited for them for millennia.

It was where she waited now.

Young took a step forward, dragging Rush with him.

He wanted to touch it.

He _needed_ to touch it.

Just—simply—to—

Rush went down, knees buckling without warning, sliding out of his loosening grip before Young could do anything to slow his fall.

The sudden shock of it brought Young back to his senses, and the temptation to touch the chair faded as he lost his grip on the other man.

He staggered slightly as he caught his balance, his full horror of the device returning redoubled as he realized that the thing hadn't been calling to _him_ at all, but to _Rush_, who even now was reaching out toward it from where he had fallen to the deck plating.

Young had been lucky, _unbelievably lucky_, that Rush had been so tired that he had physically buckled under the mental pressure the chair was exerting, rather than making a break for the device, because, linked as they were, Young knew—he would have let him go.

He might even have _helped _him.

Young knelt down, grabbed a handful of Rush's jacket, and dragged the scientist bodily back into the corridor before slamming his hand down on the door controls.

Out of sight, the chair was still exerting the same pull—as if Rush's proximity had flipped a switch.

"You just can't get a break, can you? Even for ten fucking minutes."

"I have to find her," Rush whispered, his eyes fixed on the closed door that led to the chair room. His skin was the color of chalk, his pupils dilated. "I have to find the AI. You have to let me go."

Young touched Rush's thoughts briefly and felt the pull of the chair distorting everything, invading everywhere, including into Young's own mind. He pulled back enough to resist it, but Rush—Rush couldn't do the same. The man had nowhere to go. His entire cognitive structure was disrupted by the desire, the _need_, to use the device.

Young could barely recognize his mind.

"Do you even know where you _are_?" Young asked him quietly. "Or _who_ you are?"

"If I could just—get back in twelve hours, she might still be alive."

In the back of his mind, he watched a cascade of pens spill across a desk, glinting in the light of midmorning.

"Wrong answer," Young said, pulling away from Rush's mind as he picked the scientist up off of the floor.

Rush barely reacted.

Young's arms were burning by the time he passed the threshold of the infirmary doors. Greer and TJ were leaning against adjacent beds, talking quietly, expressions intent. They looked up in alarm at his sudden appearance, and Greer darted forward to take some of the scientist's weight.

"What happened?" the sergeant demanded. "I didn't think he was this bad, or I wouldn't have—"

Young shook his head. "He wasn't. This is something else."

They laid him out carefully on the gurney that TJ indicated. As soon as Young put him down he began to lower the partial block he had erected between their minds.

TJ's expression was intent as she took his pulse. "You should have called me down to that lab," she snapped. "When did he collapse?"

"About two minutes ago." Young said, watching her pull out a blood pressure cuff and rip open the velcro, feeling the unmitigated, terrible draw of the chair as the last barriers fell between his mind and Rush's. "But it wasn't—"

"Hey," TJ said, cutting him off, the pitch of her voice changing entirely as Rush's eyelids flickered open. "Hey, Dr. Rush, are you with us?"

"Tamara," he said, making an uncoordinated grab for her wrist. She caught his hand and held it, bringing it down to the mattress. "I have to go."

Unbelievably, Rush was trying to sit up. As unobtrusively as possible, Greer and Young held him down. It didn't take much, and he didn't seem to notice.

"Where do you have to go?" TJ asked soothingly as she tipped his head back to look at his eyes, quickly flashing a penlight into each of them in turn.

"I have to interface with the central processor."

"He wants to sit in the chair," Young translated quietly, watching TJ's eyes widen in alarm. "We literally didn't do anything other than _walk by _the chair room, and he got hit with this intense—desire, I guess, to go in. I almost couldn't stop him."

"Tamara," Rush said insistently. " I can't _leave her there_. Alone. Waiting for me. They're always—" he broke off, momentarily unable to speak. "All of them—just, waiting. Waiting for me."

Young felt the other man's thoughts turn briefly to Gloria, and he wondered if the scientist was even _separating_ his wife from the AI. Rush swallowed, eyes flicking back and forth between the three of them.

TJ looked uncertainly over at Young.

He considered the scientist for a moment, taking in the slow sharpening of the other man's thoughts and the savage draw of the chair that was _still _coming through their link.

"Sedate him," Young mouthed silently at her.

TJ gave him a subtle nod, and bent down to pull a small bottle out of her bag.

"Tamara," Rush said insistently.

"Yup, right here," she said gently. "If you're going to go find her, we've got to get you back on your feet first okay?" She unscrewed the top of the miniature bottle, which in a previous incarnation had held someone's travel-size shampoo. "Just drink this," she said quietly, handing him the container, helping him to sit forward slightly to do so.

Rush downed the entire thing in one shot.

"What the hell are you doing, Doc?" Greer asked. "You just colocalized some temporal reference frames. Seems like you should get the rest of the day off."

"How long?" Young mouthed at TJ.

"No," Rush said to Greer. "I have to _go_."

TJ flashed ten fingers at Young.

"How about later?" Greer said.

TJ handed Young a power bar. "See if you can get him to eat at least some of that before—" she made a hand motion to complete her thought, glancing down at Rush to make sure he wasn't following their discussion.

"Later is _unacceptable_," Rush said, making another effort to sit.

"Hey," Young said, pushing him back down. "Take it easy."

"I'm pretty sure later _is_ 'acceptable'," Greer said. "Want to put it to a vote?"

"This is _not_ a _democracy_," Rush replied, again trying to sit.

"Well," Greer said, dryly, pushing him back, "you've got a point there."

Rush glared at the pair of them with an unfocused, desperate frustration.

Young unwrapped the power bar, broke off a piece of it, and offered it to Rush. "Eat something, let TJ fix up your feet and we'll let you go," he said, trying to frame his words with images, projecting the idea of a trade into Rush's distressed thoughts.

Rush took the power bar.

TJ began started sorting through her bag, piling gauze, scissors, and tape on the bedside table.

Rush had made it through about a third of the power bar when the stuff TJ gave him started to kick in, slowing the urgency of his thoughts, diluting the effect of the chair.

"Did you _drug_ me?" Rush asked, appalled, refusing the piece of power bar that Young was holding.

For a moment, no one said anything. Young hooked his foot around a chair and dragged it next to the gurney. He dropped into it, resting one elbow on the mattress.

"We did," Young said finally.

"Why—" the scientist paused, struggling to construct a complete sentence, "why would you _do_ that?" he finished with an exhausted bewilderment that made Young's heart ache. He was so tired.

"Because," Young said, running a hand up and down Rush's arm in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, "you weren't going to stop trying to get back there."

"You don't understand," Rush said, his diction losing its usual crispness. "It's been—almost twenty four hours since I've seen her. It's never gone that long. Never. I should have tried to find her yesterday. I shouldn't have let you convince me—"

"Rush," Young broke in gently, but insistently. "You _can't_ right now."

"I have to."

"I know," Young said, pulling his chair slightly closer to the gurney that they had placed him on. "I know it has to be you. Just—not the chair. Not right now."

"She's a _person_," Rush said. "Not some bloody machine that you can just _turn off_ when it suits you."

"She's a _starship_, Rush, _you're_ the person."

"Of course you would say that. Of course you would." Rush pressed a trembling hand to his forehead, trying to hold himself together. Young could feel the scientist's mind splitting under the strain of Destiny's continuous, irresistable pull and Young's own ruthless hold.

"Please let me do this." The scientist was too exhausted to project, but his cold hand closed around Young's wrist.

"You're done, Rush. You're not thinking clearly."

Rush didn't reply, his thoughts a miserable swirl as he struggled to stay conscious.

"Come on," Young said softly. "Don't fight this."

"Don't say that. Not ever. Not to me." Rush replied, his thoughts decohesing into random images, some of them clearly not his own memories, some of them flowing together, related.

Dr. Perry smiling through tears.

A ringing phone in a room covered with numbers.

David Telford leaning over him, hands on his shoulders.

"Greer," Young murmured, glancing at the sergeant, who was watching him with a guarded expression. "Take the rest of the afternoon off. Get some rest." The other man was sharp enough to recognize a dismissal when he heard one.

"Stay out of trouble, Doc," Greer said, squeezing Rush's shoulder as he left.

Rush was continually forcing his eyes open, every part of his energy now directed at hanging on to consciousness.

"Tell me something," Young said, hoping to distract him enough to push him over the edge.

"What."

"Anything. I hardly know anything about you. Tell me something about yourself."

TJ glanced sharply at him.

"There's nothing to tell."

"I doubt that," Young said skeptically. "How did you meet Gloria?"

"In the rain," Rush murmured and, against his will, his mind was suddenly full of it, pouring down over a street that Young had never seen before in his life but, all the same, he could recognize as New College Lane, in Oxford, England.

Her coat had been a pale blue and her hair darkened with water.

She hadn't had an umbrella.

"Did you have one?" Young asked.

TJ looked up from where she was setting up her supplies, unnerved at the non sequitur.

"Of course not. D'you even _know_ me?"

It had been late in the day, the gray sky darkening as the sun set behind the cloud cover and they'd both stopped beneath Hertford Bridge to wait out the downpour.

"Nice," Young said, toying with Rush's cuffed sleeve.

"Shut up," Rush replied without any animosity, the memory fragmenting as he finally lost his grip on consciousness.

Young sighed in relief, bringing a hand to his forehead as he looked up to lock eyes with TJ.

"He's out?" She whispered.

Young nodded.

"Thank god," she said. "What the _hell_ is going on?"

"The damn ship is trying to get him to sit in the chair by literally implanting the desire to do so in his mind. I think." Young leaned forward, his elbows on the mattress, his head cradled in his hands. "God, I can _still_ feel it, TJ. Even when he's unconscious."

TJ was making quick work of changing the bandages on Rush's wrists. Young could tell that the injuries were healing quickly—better than he would have expected given the amount of strain the man had been putting on them.

"These are healing well," TJ murmured, as if she were thinking along the same lines.

"Too well?"

"No," TJ said. "It's not like what we saw with Chloe. This is within normal limits. Maybe a _slightly_ accelerated, but—" she shrugged. "We really don't know what to expect."

They were quiet for a moment while TJ finished Rush's wrists.

"So," TJ said, asking the question that was hanging between them, "he's going to have to sit in the chair again, isn't he?"

Young nodded. "Assuming the ship keeps—doing what it's doing, we're not going to be able to stop him except by physically restraining him."

"Not a long term option," TJ said, looking at him as if she suspected he might try it.

"Not even a short term option," Young confirmed. "If you could feel what it's like—" He shook his head. "Even a few hours of this would destroy his sanity. What's left of it, anyway."

"Yeah, I was getting that," TJ said, unlacing Rush's boots.

"How long can we keep him under?" Young asked her.

"No longer than tomorrow morning," TJ said, "assuming that he metabolizes the extract I just gave him at the same rate that Volker and Greer did, which is definitely not a given."

Young nodded, watching her gingerly ease Rush's right boot off his foot. "Oh god," she winced. "His sock is coming with it. That's not a good sign."

* * *

><p>It took TJ nearly an hour to clean and rebandage Rush's feet. She couldn't even attempt to re-suture his left foot—it was too badly damaged at this point after everything Rush had put it through.<p>

Young, again, had to eat dinner in the infirmary. He hated to think about the rumors that must be circulating at this point. Certainly Wray, Eli, TJ, and Greer would help him out to the extent that they could in stemming the inevitable gossiping and theorizing, but there was only so much damage control they could do without raising entirely different sets of questions.

Young slept in the infirmary again that night.

In the morning, he ate the breakfast that TJ brought him and was in the middle of reviewing the science team's latest reports, when he looked up to see Eli and Greer standing in the infirmary doorway.

"Sergeant. Eli." Young shut his laptop.

"Hey," Eli said. "Greer filled me in about the fun new feature of the chair. Like stalker-attack-chair isn't enough, we also get creepy-addictive-heroin-chair? That just doesn't seem right. Anyway. We came to see how it was going."

Young sighed, looking over at Rush, who was still thoroughly sedated. "Could be worse, I guess."

"Um, yeah. It can pretty much _always_ be worse," Eli said. "As I have come to realize."

"What's the plan, sir?" Greer asked.

Young rubbed his jaw, feeling a brief twinge as he jostled his injured fingers. "I'm going to let him do it."

"Yeah, so that sounds like a _completely terrible idea_," Eli said. "Just, you know, from an outsider's perspective. A _sane_ outsider."

"When?" Greer asked.

"As soon as he wakes up." Young shifted his gaze over to Eli. "How much do you know about this software buffer that he used the first time he sat in the chair? The one he rigged up with Brody?"

"I tried to take a look at it," Eli said, "after we made it back to the ship, but he had locked it down entirely, by which I mean that he password protected it on his laptop. I can only tell you two things about it. One, the file size was small, so it wasn't anything incredibly elaborate. And two, there's no way in hell that it worked the way Brody explained it, because writing a_ software buffer_ that turns an information stream into a dream interface is_ impossible_, by the way_._ Even for Rush."

Young smiled slightly. "So he wasn't entirely forthright about that. Big surprise. What do you think the program did?"

"It probably _did_ slow the rate of transfer somehow," Eli said, "but not in the way in which he claimed."

"Which means what?" Young asked.

"He couldn't have _created_ any kind of interface with a program that small. He couldn't have even significantly _modified_ the manner in which he interfaced with the chair. From this, I presume that he was banking on something else entirely to protect his mind."

"Yeah," Young said, glancing at Rush again. "I have a theory about that."

"Oh _really_," Eli said archly.

"I'll tell you later. What I really want to know is whether you think it would be helpful to run the program when he sits in the chair later this afternoon.

"Why don't you ask _him_?"

"Because I'm not sure he's going to be firing on all cylinders today. Look, if you bring me his laptop, I may be able to open the program for you so you can take a look."

"Oh he's going to _hate_ that," Eli said with a grin, already heading toward the door. "I'm in. For the greater good, and all."

Greer shot Young a skeptical look. "What's going to happen to _you_ when he sits in the chair?"

"I guess we'll find out," Young replied.

Young spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon trying not to think about what was coming. He had made short work of cracking Rush's password for Eli. Rush had absently typed it enough times while their thoughts were linked that he had a sense of what the keystrokes should be. From there, it was just a matter of relaxing and letting his fingers remember before passing the computer over to Eli, who had taken up a cross-legged position on the gurney adjacent to Rush.

"This is weird," was Eli's first comment.

"Weird?" Young echoed.

"I take back what I said earlier. This is a short program, but not a simple one. And—" he looked up at Young, "it's not in any programming language that I've ever seen."

Eli seemed to expect some kind of reaction.

Young shrugged.

"I feel like you don't get the significance of this," Eli said. "The guy _invented a programming language_ that would work on his laptop and with Ancient systems."

"Is that—difficult?" Young asked.

"Um, yes. It's also one—really badass, two—probably something that he should have told us, and three—explains a lot about how good he is at getting the ship to do what he wants."

"So, c_ould_ he have manufactured a dream interface?" Young asked.

"Umm, no. Impossible things? They're still impossible. Give me a minute."

Young raised his eyebrows in Rush's direction. Through their link, muted images flickered, too dim for Young to make out.

"Dang," Eli said softly, after five minutes had passed. He looked up at Young, giving him a crooked, unsettled smile. "This is—really sophisticated."

"You sound surprised," Young replied. "Last time I checked, the guy was still some kind of computational genius."

"Well, no, I mean, okay—here's the thing. He's—smart. He _is_. But it's a very—confusing kind of smart?"

"Yeah," Young said. "I get that."

"I think that he thinks that he's maybe smarter than he actually is," Eli continued. "Or," he paused, drumming his fingers on the edge of the laptop.

"Or?" Young prompted.

"Here's the thing. The man _definitely_ has problems with basic math, which he likes to pretend to be awesome at, but seriously, have you _noticed_ how many people he has doing calculations for him? I've always found this—confusing. I mean, the dude is a _Fields medalist_."

Young raised his eyebrows.

"But this—" Eli said quietly, his eyes locked on the screen, "this is something else."

"How so?" Young asked.

"Well, the syntax he's got on this thing is Ancient, but if I'm parsing this correctly, I think he's using a variation of recursion theory to define _himself_ as a set with a high degree of unsolvability. That's—well, that is _hot_."

"God damn it, Eli," Young said. "Help me out here."

Eli shrugged. "I just wanted to give you a sense of it. Basically, if I'm understanding this correctly, in practical terms, he was blocking Destiny out of his head. Which means that he was able to interrogate Destiny in the computational sense without the reverse being true. Meaning that the information used to build the interface between them would have been provided by Rush himself. What the _neural_ basis for _that_ is, I don't know, but I'd guess it was some unconscious process."

"So he made a dream interface, then?" Young asked dryly.

"No—well, yeah okay, _kind of_." Eli made a circular motion with his hand. "Anyway, the point is? I don't think he can use it this time if the goal is to find the AI. I think it's got to be a direct link."

"All right," Young said. "Thanks, Eli."

"Let me know when he's going to do it. I'll come help out. Monitor the monitors, that kind of thing."

Young nodded, and Eli hopped off the gurney, Rush's laptop underneath his arm.

"One more thing," Eli said slowly, "and I hate to say anything, but—I'm going to anyways. If you think about it, this program," he pointed to the computer, "is a crappy defense against what happened to Franklin—aka an information dump. It was really a defense against the _opposite_ phenomenon—against the ship taking anything from _Rush's _mind that he didn't give it. That makes it a very good defense against what ultimately happened to him. Which kind of makes you wonder how much he knew going into all of this."

Young sighed.

"Yeah," Eli said, turning toward the door. "I hear ya."

* * *

><p>Rush woke up at around fourteen thirty, right around the time that TJ was starting to get nervous about how long he'd been out. Young could tell from the way she kept organizing and reorganizing her pharmaceuticals.<p>

The first thing Rush did, of course, was pull out his IV and try to get up.

From what Young could tell from his thoughts, the response was pure reflex.

"Easy," Young said, crossing the distance between them in a few strides.

/I have to go,/ Rush projected forcefully into his mind, and when Young's hands closed around the scientist's upper arms he felt the already intense pull of the chair ratchet up to a nearly unmanageable level.

/We're going,/ he reassured Rush, projecting his intent at the other man, hoping that it would help. He didn't get anything in return other than a sense of unmitigated urgency.

"Can he eat something first?" TJ asked, appearing at Young's side. "He really should eat."

"Nope," Young replied, letting Rush struggle into a seated position. "We're going to have one hell of a fight on our hands if we try to make him."

"Okay," TJ said quietly, shouldering her medical bag. "Let's go." She pulled out her radio to let Greer and Eli know that it was time.

Young eased up on the connection between his mind and Rush's to the point where he was satisfied that he could resist the pull of the chair himself.

If that meant that Rush half-collapsed under the strain that Destiny was exerting, well, that made it easier for Young and Greer to carry him to the chair room without argument.

* * *

><p>When they arrived at the room, they found it waiting for them—door open, monitors aglow, the interface active.<p>

Young could barely breathe through the urge to touch the thing.

The strain on Rush was so great that the scientist literally was unable to move.

The door swished shut behind them.

"I got it," Young told Greer, who backed off with a nod.

"Careful," Eli said, as Young approached the chair.

He lowered Rush down into the thing, muscles shaking in anticipation, ready to jump back at the slightest indication.

Nothing happened.

Young reached over gingerly and placed Rush's left hand down into the open restraints. Slowly, as if the chair was deliberately trying _not_ to frighten anyone, the metal bracelet closed over the scientist's wrist. Young did the other hand and both feet, before gently tipping the scientist's head back.

The neural interface bolts engaged with a crack that made everyone jump.

Finally, Young lowered his barriers entirely.

A profound sense of relief was the first thing that hit him and then—

Unexpectedly, his mind locked with Rush's.

"TJ," was the only thing he had time to say before—

_They explode through a nebulous darkness into the bright light of Destiny's CPU, blurring through incomprehensible circuits, until the light resolves into something that makes sense to him._

_He—_they_—are standing in a cluttered, white room._

_The memory, the structure, the laws of the interface, are borrowed from Rush, are _coming_ from Rush and he—_they_—are sharing Rush's body, thoughts clear and pain-free for the first time in a long time. _

_The room is familiar. He's seen it often in fragments of memories._

_California sunlight streams in through the windows, bleaching out the walls to a painful, blinding uniformity._

_"Of course."_

_Rush speaks the words aloud—to Young, to the room, to himself, to Destiny, wherever she is in all of this. _

_"Of course she would choose this."_

_They are so close that Young does not need to reply in words. Rush can feel his confusion, and he—he can feel Rush's dread. _

_They are startled by the ringing of a phone._

_Young moves to pick it up. _

_Rush halfheartedly tries to hold him back._

_/Don't./_

_/This is what happened,/ Young replies, and picks up the phone._

_"Dr. Rush? This is Dr. Forsythe. I'm calling about your wife."_

_"Yes?"_

_"She's taken a turn for the worse. You may want to come down here."_

_"I understand. Do you have an estimate for—"_

_"She probably won't make it through the day."_

_"Thank you."_

_He hangs up, fingers gripping the edge of the desk in an agony of indecision. _

_He looks at the clock, looks back at the desk. He empties his collection of pens out of the top drawer and spills them across his desk in a cascade, glinting in the light of midmorning._

_Dull amongst the glittering writing implements lies the black plastic of a box cutter. _

_He keeps it here in case he changes his mind._

_He picks it up and unbuttons his sleeve, fingers running over his arm, searching for his subcutaneous transmitter. _

_It would be farther out of line than he's dared to step to just—cut it out and tell them to go fuck themselves for once._

_But the stakes were high, and Telford would come for him. _

_He would drag him from Gloria's bedside if he had to._

_Besides, the part of him that knows that this is a memory also knows that he found the AI at the hospital _last_ time. _

_She won't be there again. _

_Not this time._

_Telford beams into the room, arriving as a column of light that darkens and solidifies. _

_Rush is still standing there, sleeve unbuttoned, blade in hand, when he materializes fully. _

_Telford stares at him, his eyes dark, face immobile except for a fractional tightening of the skin around his eyes. _

_"I thought you might try something like that," Telford whispers. There's pain in his voice, or pity, or something that Rush doesn't want to know about._

_"It wouldn't have worked anyway," Rush replies. "Would it."_

_"No." It wasn't a question, but Telford answers anyway. "You'd just—ruin your shirt."_

_They lock eyes._

_"David," he says, one last attempt to appeal to the man's better nature. "Please. Don't ask me to do this. Not today. She's—"_

_Telford holds up a hand. "I know. I _know_, Nick."_

_Rush supposes that he does._

"_We have intelligence that the Lucian Alliance is making a run on the base as early as tomorrow."_

_"What? How could they _possibly_ have known—"_

_"We have to go now," Telford says. "It has to be now and it has to be you. If we're lucky, and everything goes like it's supposed to, we can get there and back in twelve hours." _

_But Telford looks down and away, like he's afraid that they won't make it back in twelve hours or, maybe, like he knows he's lying. _

_The latter possibility occurs to Rush only later. When it's all over._

_He nods, hating the other man. _

_Hating himself._

_They beam out, onto the Daedalus, and in a few seconds he's farther from Gloria than anyone on the entire planet that he's leaving behind._

_He avoids Telford as much as he can. _

_He changes out into the black fatigues that someone always seems to find for him. _

_He's sitting alone in a hallway near the hyperdrive, feeling the subtle vibration in the metal under his back, trying to soak up some of the heat that lingers here despite the best efforts of the ventilation system. It's the warmest, least efficient place on this ship. It's where Mandy finds him._

_"Gloria?" she asks quietly, her motorized wheelchair stopping immediately next to where he is crouched on the floor. He shakes his head. _

_"Oh my god, Nick. I'm so sorry." Her voice is breaking, closing off, and if he could look at her, he's sure he would see her crying. _

_Crying for _him_. _

_Because she thinks his wife is _dead_. _

_He can't tell her the truth, bright little thing that she is; he can't bear for her to know that Gloria is _still alive_, still _waiting_ for him to come, trying to hang on. Gloria doesn't know that he's so far away it would take even light, the fastest natural thing in the universe, _years_ to cover the distance between them._

_"Mandy," he says, not looking at her, reaching out to grab her lifeless hand. "Mandy, don't cry." She can barely move, barely breathe on her own. He's not certain she's strong enough for too many tears. "Little miss brilliant," he says, trying to cheer her up, but it's a wasted effort because his own voice breaks as he looks at her. _

_She tries to smile at him._

_He tries to smile back._

_They stay there together until they feel the hyperdrive shut down, and Telford comes to find them. _

_They beam down, the three of them, into a large room that has Anubis' disgusting aesthetic all over it. Above them, the walls fade away into darkness. The floorspace is barely visible in the dim lighting but—he doesn't need to see. He's spent too much time here as it is. _

_"It gets me every time," Telford says. "This is where he _succeeded_."_

_He doesn't reply. _

_He hates this place, hates that Anubis' belief in the scientific basis of ascension means that he shares a conceptual common ground with someone—some_thing_ so unquestionably evil. _

_But maybe that's not so surprising. He certainly can think of no one more ethically _unqualified_ to attempt this, other than perhaps Telford himself. _

_He reaches up to brush his hair out of his eyes and looks over at Mandy. _

_If merit had been the criteria by which they had chosen, it should have been her, of course—little miss brilliant, so excited, so god damned positive about everything. _

_He hopes that this will help her. _

_He knows that even if he succeeds, it will be too late to help Gloria. _

_Probably. _

_Mandy is staring at him with an unreadable expression on her face. _

_"Don't do this," she whispers to him, too quietly for Telford to hear. "Please."_

_"We talked about this," he whispers back. "We agreed. There's no other way."_

_"But now that I'm here, I've changed my mind. This is wrong. There's something about this place that's been twisted. This isn't our legacy to continue. It shouldn't be." Her words are rapid and breathless, her eyes on Telford, who is circling back toward them, footsteps echoing in the cavernous space._

_"I know that." He reaches forward, his hand closing around her delicate, nearly lifeless forearm. "It will be all right." _

_"It won't," she whispers._

_"Mandy—"_

_"What are you talking about?" Telford asks sharply, coming back into view as he rounds a bank of monitors._

_"Dr. Perry needs to be beamed out," he says smoothly. "She's not feeling well."_

_He looks back at Mandy, but she shakes her head fractionally. "You shouldn't be alone down here," she mouths silently. "Don't send me away."_

_"You shouldn't have to see this," he murmurs, leaning in. "It may be upsetting."_

_She shakes her head, but before she can comment further, she is beamed away._

_He looks over at Telford._

_"It's probably better this way," the other man says. "I never understood why you wanted her along in the first place. With all that—" he makes a sweeping motion that seems to indicate a wheelchair. "She's a liability."_

_"She's brilliant," he replies. "That's never a liability."_

_"If you say so," Telford gives him a fixed gaze from beneath lowered eyebrows. "Let's get going, so you can—get back."_

_He has already made the necessary modifications. There is nothing left to do but to attempt it._

_He walks over to the edge of a pale, rectangular depression in the floor where the faintest sheen of liquid glimmers in the dim light. He kneels, feeling his muscles knotting with tension as he unlaces his boots quietly, competently. _

_"Nerves of steel, that's what you've got," Telford says. "I fucking love it. How did _you_ ever end up in _academia_?"_

_He resists the urge to roll his eyes. _

_"What a waste," the other man says._

_He grimaces faintly. "I would hardly call it a waste." _

_He pulls off his socks and gets to his feet. The bottoms of his borrowed fatigues drag along the floor. _

_There is no point in delay. He steps carefully into the pool. The thin sheen of liquid turns out to be a watery gel. It clings to the bottoms of his feet and soaks the hems of his fatigues as he makes his way gingerly to stand in the center of the shallow depression._

_The gel is going to have excellent conductance properties._

_"Ready?" Telford asks him quietly._

_"Yes."_

_"You're sure you wouldn't rather try this on Dr. Perry?"_

_"You're a cold-hearted bastard, David."_

_"Takes one to know one, Nick." _

_Telford drops his shoulder and levers up a switch with all of his strength. _

_He looked away from Telford, gazing up, into the blackness, as he listens to the charge mount in concealed capacitors. _

_His heart pounds in his throat._

_He waits for discharge._

_He may not survive this. _

_He may survive but never be the same. _

_But maybe—_

_Maybe he'll be different. _

_Maybe he'll be better. _

_Maybe there will still be a chance to save her. _

_The device discharges with a crack, and he feels the electromagnetic field run through him, disrupting his own gradients and internal set points, forcing a change, forcing a new configuration. _

_There is no sensation of hitting the floor, but he finds himself there nonetheless. _

_He cannot move. _

_Above him, the walls fade into the blackness. _

_Something is wrong with his heart; he can feel it flutter like a wild, trapped thing._

_He thinks he might be dying. _

_His perception of time slows. _

_He had wanted to see her. _

_He had wanted to be there with her. _

_For her. _

_And the part of him that's sharing his mind, the part of him that is not Nick anymore but a blend of what he has become, a blend of Rush and Young, knows that here—here is where he _will_ see her. _

_This time. _

_In this false addition to a memory he'd give anything to destroy._

_"Sweetheart," she murmurs, her face improbably luminous against the black ceiling of the chamber. She's kneeling next to him. "It's all right." He can feel her hand on his forehead, brushing back his hair. _

_He reaches up to touch her, vision blurring as a sheen of water forms over his eyes, obscuring the edges of her silhouette. _

_"You're not real," he says, forcing the words past a throat that is trying to close. "You're not her. I never saw her. Not here. Even if she could have, she would _never_ have come here."_

_"She loved you," Destiny says, tears smearing Gloria's carefully applied eyeliner. "I know she did."_

_"You tried this before," Rush whispers, reaching up to touch her hair. "You cannot forgive me in her place. It's not the same. It's not true."_

_"You wanted to save her," Destiny's outline blurs briefly into Emily, Gloria's hair darkening to a honey blonde before snapping back._

_"She never knew that." Rush says to her. "All she _ever knew_ was that I left her. I left her. Alone."_

_"Nick," her voice cracks on his name, as she shakes her head, her face distorting in misery._

_"You can't fix this for me," Rush says with a gentle relentlessness, still stroking her hair, "even though you want to. You can't stay here. You have to go back. The ship needs you. We need you."_

_"But this," she whispers, not looking at him, gesturing weakly at the room, "this is what will _hold you back_ when the time comes. You have to let it go." She bites her lip. "You must let it go, or you won't be able to complete the mission." _

_"You can't fix this with a lie," he murmurs, his heart fluttering in his throat. "Even_ I _know that."_

_"This isn't how it ended," she admits, her tears falling into his hair. _

_"No," Rush says. "It's not."_

_"I won't leave you here," she says, shaking her head. _

_"You have to," he replies. "Go back to Destiny. You can trace your way back out of my mind." _

_"You know how to escape the interface?" she whispers. "Colonel Young cannot pull you out like this."_

_"I do," he whispers. "Go. I'm not alone. I'm never alone anymore."_

_"I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I'm sorry I brought you here."_

_"Go," he replies, and she vanishes._

_His remembered narrative resumes as if a switch has been flicked. _

_"Nick," Telford's voice comes from across the room._

_"David," Rush coughs weakly, unable to get up as Telford drops to his knees beside him. "It didn't work."_

_"It did," Telford whispers. "It did. It worked, it's just—not complete."_

_"David—"_

_He cannot sit, and Telford does not help him._

_"I'm sorry," Telford says. He hits a button on a remote he's holding. _

_The shallow depression containing the conductive material begins to sink into the floor. _

_Telford puts his hand on Rush's shoulders. _

_"What are you doing?" He tries to push himself up, tries to fight against Telford's grip, but his heart is barely beating. He can hardly breathe, hardly feel his hands and feet. _

_The gel numbs his skin as it comes up from somewhere in the center of in the sinking floor, taking the energy out of his muscles. _

_In a few moments, he will be entirely paralyzed._

_"Don't fight this," Telford says, fisting his hand in the soaking hair at the back of Rush's neck and tipping his head back, opening his airway. _

_It is, for the moment, easier to breathe._

_"It has to be this way. You know it does."_

_The level of the alien substance is slowly rising. It slides between his fingers and creeps into his borrowed uniform with a liquid intransigence. _

_"It doesn't." He can barely hear himself. He wants to say more, he wants to argue; but he can barely speak, half-submerged in an alien substance far away from Gloria, who, like him, is struggling to breathe. _

_Waiting for him to come home._

_"This is part of it," Telford whispers, one hand over his heart, holding him down, the other tangled in his hair. "Don't tell me you never suspected. You must have. You can't truly break free unless there's an incentive."_

_Had he known? _

_It seems so obvious now. _

_Perhaps he had. _

_He's certain it wouldn't have made a difference._

_"I'm glad that it's me," Telford whispers. "No one understands you like I do, Nick." _

_He opens his mouth to hurl one last piece of invective at the other man, but before he can say anything, Telford is kissing him. It's everything Rush would have predicted, if he had ever had the time or the inclination to give it any thought—aggressive and desperate and sad—an unreciprocated goodbye, that is, fundamentally, more of a final power play than anything else. _

_He can't breathe._

_He relaxes entirely, hands unclenching, giving in to Telford because he cannot do otherwise, removing himself from his surroundings, trying to recall what Jackson told him—that it was, and had always been, less about _perfection_ than _acceptance_. _

_Maybe that's enough. It will have to be._

_And how is this—any of this, worse than what Daniel had described to him—drowning in his own blood, blamed for the fracturing of a nation, his wife dead because he had failed to save her. _

_He has to let go._

_"I'll see you on the other side," Telford whispers as he pulls back and pushes Rush under in a blurring cascade of changing refractive index as air gives way to something else._

_He cannot move. _

_Above him, the lights soften into edgeless obscurity. _

_He inhales, pulling the stuff into his lungs._

_He wishes he knew where it came from, this substance that's going to kill him or save him, or change him, or set him free. He wishes he knew whether it was Ancient, or Goa'uld, or some twisted combination of the two, invented by Anubis. _

_He hopes it's Ancient. _

_And then—_

_He lets go._

* * *

><p>Young tore back into consciousness with an agonized gasp, his heart beating against his ribs, his muscles contracted with the shock of realizing that he was not, in fact, dying.<p>

TJ hovered over him, hands on his shoulders, her face tight with worry. "Did it work?" she asked, her eyes flicking between him and the chair. "What's wrong?"

He realized his hands were wrapped tightly around her arms.

"What's wrong?" she repeated.

"Nothing."

He let her go.

Turning his head, he saw Emily, not Gloria this time but _Emily_, thank god, sitting beside him on the floor. The AI's expression was closed and distant.

It was watching Rush, who was sat motionless, still in the chair.

"Colonel," TJ whispered. "Did it work?"

"Yeah," he said, still looking at the AI. "Yeah, I think so."

"You can take a minute," the AI said quietly as he pushed himself up to his elbows, "if you require a minute. He's fine."

Young raised his eyebrows.

It did not look back at him.

"You gave us a bit of a scare," TJ said, helping him push himself into a sitting position, "but everything seems to be okay. There weren't any bolts this time at least," she said, glancing at Rush.

"Yup," Eli added, watching Young from behind the monitor bank. "All things considered, this wasn't so bad, except the part where you passed out."

Young said looked at them in overt disbelief, before veiling his expression as he remembered abruptly that they hadn't seen what he had—that the only thing they knew was a lack of bolts and bleeding.

Only Greer seemed to pick up on his mood as he locked eyes with Young, his expression dark and watchful.

With TJ's help, Young got to his feet. His link with Rush was wide open but he had only a vague sense of the other man before he slammed his hand down on the interface panel in the back of the chair and easily pulled the scientist out of Destiny.

Rush's thoughts sharpened immediately into consciousness; Ancient gave way to English in a fluid wave, as if the ship were surrendering him to Young, as if it knew that this time it had nearly pushed him too far.

The restraints disengaged with a simultaneous crack that made everyone, except Young, jump.

Rush opened his eyes and looked up at him.

Young had no idea what to say to the man, but he was certain that _something_ needed to be said.

"Come on."

He held out his hand.

Rush took it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

* * *

><p>They slammed metal cups down to the table with a synchronized clang; Young forcefully, Rush with a cocky shake of his hair. The sound echoed through the converted storage room, causing would-be drinkers to turn their heads, eyeing them with bemusement tinged with varying degrees of alarm.<p>

"We'll be needing more than _that_," Rush announced, eyeing Brody, who was regarding them steadily from the other side of the table.

"A lot more," Young confirmed.

Brody looked unconvinced. "Should you _really_ be—"

"Yes." Rush cut him off. "_God_ yes. And if you're fucking thankful that your temporal reference frame is in fucking continuity with the hull of this ship, and hence, reality as it's colloquially understood, you'll keep pouring."

"I'm a fan," Brody said with a one-shouldered shrug, refilling their glasses as he shot Volker, Greer, and Park who were seated at an adjacent workbench, a significant glance.

"Contemporaneous reference frames for all," Park exclaimed, lifting her glass.

"Yup," Greer said, touching his glass to hers with the subtle sound of metal-on-metal. "It's how we do."

"This should be good," Volker said, as he watched Rush and Young knock back another shot in tandem. "Someone find a kino. That way we can either record this for posterity or, you know, use it as evidence."

"Shut it, Volker," Rush snapped, thankfully directing attention away from Young's poorly concealed wince at the astrophysicist's comment.

"For your information," Rush continued, "Colonel Young and I have not tried to kill each other for at least—what, eight months now? Arguably longer than that, depending on how certain events are interpreted." He shook his hair out of his eyes, the clarity of his thoughts and the lack of strain on his mind putting him in a better mood than Young had ever seen him.

"Um, congratulations?" Park said.

"Thank you, Dr. Park." Rush slid his metal cup back over to Brody.

"You sure you can handle this?" Brody asked him.

"I'm Scottish, man," Rush snapped. "Don't insult me."

/You realize you might be less Scottish than Ancient, at this point,/ Young observed. /How good were they at holding their alcohol?/

/I'm certain they were fucking fantastic at it,/ Rush shot back.

"I never see you down here—your tolerance has to be pretty low at this point," Brody continued. "Plus, no offense, but you don't seem to be in the best shape at the moment."

"Yeah, or _ever_," Volker commented.

"I'm fine," Rush replied, shooting a cool look in Volker's direction.

"Did you come here _directly_ from the infirmary?" Greer asked wryly.

Rush ignored both Greer and Volker with admirable poise. "I suspect that you lack any of the requisite credentials for bartending," he said, looking at Brody.

"True," Brody admitted, "but an argumentum ad hominem isn't going to change the fact that you're out of luck for the next twenty minutes."

Rush smirked at Brody, angling his empty cup in a mock salutation. "So it might appear. However, your admirably responsible stance is undercut by the fact that you lot need to clear out of here. The colonel and I are commandeering this fucking bar and an undetermined fraction of your alcohol, correct?" He turned to Young, raising his eyebrows.

Young hadn't necessarily intended to do any such thing, but found that it struck him as a good idea.

"Oh yeah. There's no way _this_ could go wrong," Volker said.

"Everyone out," Young confirmed. "Leave the bottle," he said, catching Brody's eye.

Park straightened up as if she was about to say something. Rush narrowed his eyes at her, and she turned her motion into getting up from her seat, her expression anxious.

"If you guys kill each other," Volker said, "we're putting Eli in charge."

"Scott's in charge," Young replied. "Now go."

The room emptied, and he was left alone with Rush, who immediately grabbed the alcohol and poured them both a third shot. To Young's relief, he didn't seem inclined to knock it back right away. He just picked it up and considered it, then took a small sip. Neither of them said anything for several moments.

"We're doing this," Young finally said, trying to build any kind of verbal, or personal, or alcoholic momentum as he threw back his third shot and slammed his cup down.

"Are we?" Rush said. "I committed only to your proposal as stated when we left the infirmary and you implied to Tamara we were going to do something prudent."

"Um," Young said, trying to remember any kind of 'stated proposal'. "Can you paraphrase?"

"Getting fucking smashed, and in short order."

"Right. Well, that was phase one."

"No other phases were disclosed," Rush said, sipping his shot.

"Rush. There's no getting around the fact that you're going to explain to me what the fuck I just saw," Young said, not looking at him. "Because otherwise, I'm going to have to ask you about it, which would be worse."

"Too right," Rush said. "I support your efforts to speak as little as possible."

"Jackass," Young said conversationally. "Start at the beginning, wherever you think that is."

Rush was quiet for so long that Young wasn't entirely sure he was going to say anything.

Only the agitated swirl of his thoughts indicated that it would be worth waiting him out.

"Did you ever wonder why I was recruited to the program?" Rush asked finally, continuing to sip his drink.

Young shrugged. "You're some kind of mathematical hotshot," he said. "It never seemed that complicated."

"Maybe not to _you_," Rush said, sipping his alcohol. "But the program does not generally make a habit of recruiting tenured professors of mathematics who have never shown even the slightest interest in anything beyond the terrestrial problems of academicia. P=NP, or not. The Hodge conjecture. Et cetera."

Rush was sending him entire mathematical structures through their link, which, frankly, Young had little hope of understanding when he _hadn't _been drinking.

"Yeah, I guess the college-professor thing struck me as maybe a little bit weird," Young said, "though to be honest, it only occurred to me pretty recently."

"Yes well. It occurred to me _immediately_."

"Didn't you win some kind of fancy math prize?"

"As if a Fields medal qualifies anyone to muck about with alien technology." Rush gave him a disdainful look. "I resisted at first. I agreed only to consult."

"Because of Gloria?"

"Yes."

"So what changed your mind?"

"Colonel Telford," Rush said, downing the remainder of his third shot. "He knew why they needed me, and he spent a long time, a _long_ time, figuring out how to convince me."

Maddeningly, Rush stopped there. Young could feel through the link that the scientist was right on the edge of revealing something, but hadn't decided whether to do so or not.

Young stayed quiet, knowing that if he pushed Rush at _all_ he was likely to get nowhere.

"Telford had obtained permission," Rush finally continued, "to screen a selection of government-sponsored tissue banks for a panel of genes, including the so called 'Ancient gene' to identify members of the population that might be useful for his project. One of those tissue banks was the national bone marrow registry, which is how he found me."

Young nodded, staying quiet, trying to say nothing, to _do_ nothing that might raise the other man's guard.

"There were other candidates for Telford's project, of course, but none with the same intellectual qualifications. It was, in the end, Dr. Jackson who made the final choice. There were ethical aspects of the project that made everyone nervous, and there was an attempt made to balance Telford's influence with mine in some kind of replication of the famed O'Neill-Jackson axis."

Young raised his eyebrows and bit down on his urge to comment that Rush didn't really seem to have the same sort of moral cache that Dr. Jackson's name carried around the SGC.

Rush picked up on his train of thought anyway.

/Obviously,/ the scientist shot back, switching abruptly to projecting. /I'm a far cry from Daniel fucking Jackson. But no one knew that at the time. How would they? In the beginning, I acted within well-demarcated boundaries. And Telford—well, he turned out to be no Jack O'Neill, let's put it that way./

Young nodded, swallowing his questions.

"You're terribly restrained over there," Rush commented, _again_ picking up on Young's train of thought.

Young was slightly unsettled at how unusually sensitive the scientist seemed to be, and wondered whether it had anything to do with the alcohol.

"So, just to clarify, Telford's project was _not_ Icarus, correct?"

"Correct. Telford's project was related. Unnamed."

To Young, that seemed ominous.

"Too fucking right," Rush commented absently in response.

/Stop that,/ Young sent.

Rush opened his hands and then poured them both another shot.

"So which one were you initially recruited to?"

"The SGC found me through Telford's screen, but Jackson arranged a joint appointment."

"Why?" Young had never heard of a project's lead scientist splitting his time in such a manner.

It seemed impossible.

"It was a power play, orchestrated by Jackson, on my behalf." Rush smiled faintly. "It gave me leverage against Telford, without which—" he cut himself off, both verbally and mentally.

"So what _was_ Telford's project?"

"I find it unlikely that you haven't guessed," Rush said, his diction losing some of its usual precision.

"Ascension," Young said.

"Yes."

They downed their fourth shot simultaneously.

"It wasn't clear where the nine-chevron address led to, but there was some evidence to indicate that it might allow one to connect to another plane of existence. Much like the city of the Ori, which Jackson had visited. In order to gain full access though, certain benchmarks had to be met."

"Benchmarks?"

"Yes. Electrophysiological requirements for full access."

"Stop doing that."

"What, using words with more than four syllables?"

"Stop being deliberately obscure because you don't want to say what you mean."

Rush looked at him, but could not veil the uncertainty behind his defensive hauteur.

Between their minds, an unwelcome resonance reflected Young's assessment through both their thoughts—that the man's very existence, his entire manner of interacting with people, with the world, with technology, was a consistent invitation to destruction. The man seemed to do nothing but welcome it. No one could exist the way Rush did. It simply wasn't sustainable.

Rush looked away.

"So," Young said after a moment. "Benchmarks."

"Increased electrical activity in certain areas of the brain, seen briefly in Dr. Jackson before he ascended and also in the clone of Anubis that was studied at Stargate Command."

"So Telford's project was—what then? Altering someone's _brain_?"

"Not _someone's_," Rush said, eyes fixed on the wall in front of him.

"And you _agreed_ to this?" Young asked incredulously.

"I did."

"_Why_?"

"Many different reasons." Rush ran his thumbnail along the rim of his glass. "Surely it's not too difficult to imagine what at least some of those might have been."

Young rubbed his jaw, his injured fingers giving him a sharp twinge for his efforts.

"What happened there?" Rush murmured, eyes flicking to Young's bruised hand. "I've been meaning to ask."

"Nothing," Young said, trying not to think about the incident in question. "Don't worry about it."

Rush narrowed his eyes, picking up on the brief flash of memory. "You punched a wall?"

This was getting ridiculous.

"Yes." Young said shortly. "But we were talking about _you_."

Rush sighed and looked away. He drove the heel of his hand into one eye, his thoughts an evasive mass that clearly indicated that he could barely stand the thought of more discussion. "You saw the outcome anyway," Rush murmured. "There's not much more to say."

Young laughed shortly. "Not much more to _say_? Are you fucking kidding me? I just watched Telford try to murder you with his bare hands."

"He wasn't trying to murder me. Obviously the experience was a bit disturbing, but ultimately—"

"You can't lie to me, Rush," Young snapped. "I was there."

"No," Rush said quietly. "You weren't."

"Semantics. I felt what you felt. I don't know how you can so much as _look_ at him. He tried to _kill_ you and there were absolutely no repercussions."

"Well, he's hardly alone _in that_," Rush snapped acidly. "I can think of a few other individuals who fall into the _exact_ same category. I can't just cut off all relations with _everyone_ who tries to kill me," Rush said, his eyes narrowing, "from a professional standpoint, it's just not practical."

Young looked away. "How can you equate us?" he asked, thinking of Telford, knowing Rush would understand. "It wasn't the same."

"True," Rush said, his tone maddeningly reasonable. "You didn't apply the same kind of psychotic personal touch and, certainly, you had a reason to be angry, so congratulations there, but ultimately, for me, it was _your_ attempt that was worse."

"How could it _possibly_ have been worse?" Young snapped without thinking.

Rush blinked, trying to _suppress_ some of the flickering images that began to leak through his conscious control. But at the moment, with Destiny backing off and the alcohol lowering their defenses, they were too close for the scientist to effectively—

_It's almost a relief as they tear through his chest to implant the transmitter because for a moment they're out of his mind. He was _not_ built for this, he knows he wasn't—it's only the increased neural activity that allows him one last level of insight into what they're doing as they try and fail to rip apart his mind. He has David to thank for this trade he's forced them into because if they cannot tear open his mind they will instead tear open his chest and that is an exchange he is grateful for because if they had been able to turn him, oh god, they musn't ever, _ever_ succeed in turning him— _

The memory splintered and faded as Rush reasserted his control.

Young lurched forward in his seat, dropping his cup, his hands flying to his chest at the remembered sensation of his ribs splitting open, trying to erase the feel of something cold and metallic being placed next to his heart.

He felt like he might be sick.

"Fuck," he breathed.

"Well, how did you suppose it got there?" Rush asked mildly, sipping his drink. The only evidence that the scientist had ever been upset was his slowly settling pulse.

"I—" Young shook his head. "You were _conscious_ for that?"

Rush didn't reply. But then, he didn't need to.

Young righted his cup, and poured himself another shot.

"Don't worry about it," Rush said. "No harm done. Other than the pain. And the psychological trauma. And the abduction of Chloe, and _her_ pain and _her_ psychological trauma." He paused, sipping his drink. "The eventual mutiny of the civilians against your command. The genetic transformation of a crew member. The—"

"You've made your point," Young said.

"Yes, well," Rush murmured, "I'm sure it seemed like a good idea at the time. There's relatively little advantage to the kind of retrospective analysis that you're continually subjecting yourself to."

"Thanks," Young said dryly. "You're unexpectedly philosophical about this, especially considering you just had a full-blown, technicolor flashback about thirty seconds ago.

Rush gave him a one-shouldered shrug. "It's called perspective."

Young stared at him, seeing someone other than the man he thought he had known. Someone who had started to transcend the bounds of what a person could contain. Someone who had shattered every obstacle he'd ever encountered through sheer force of will, and had been shattered himself, through the effort expended.

It scared the hell out of him.

"So what happened between you and Telford?" Young asked, after he'd gotten himself back under marginal control.

"What do you mean?" Rush said, eyes half closed, thoughts a dark, unreadable swirl. "We didn't see each other until he gated out to Icarus after you _finally_ got around to refusing the command."

Young knew he should stay quiet, but he was unsettled and frustrated and fucking _uncertain_ about nearly everything. Unfortunately, what he said instead came out less like a question and more like an accusation.

"Did you sleep with him?"

Rush's eyes widened, the rhythm of his thoughts slowing in astonishment before reengaging at a furious pitch.

"_No_," he said. "Were you not _paying_ _attention_?" The scientist's thoughts were a miserable, protected swirl of Ancient, deliberately fracturing, fractal-like.

Young didn't need to know exactly what the other man was thinking. He could feel the disappointment radiating off Rush before the other man seemed to take it and transform it into something hard and determined, that was about to be released in Young's direction—even though he was exhausted and hurt, and well on the road to being drunk as hell.

A wall of directed anger slammed into Young's mind as Rush began to speak.

"My often criticized and 'heartlessly' pragmatic approach to dealing with situations requiring cost/benefit analyses between two frequently terrible alternatives does not translate into a complete lack of every human sentiment. _I_," Rush continued, with an undercurrent of spite, "am not the kind of person who would ever, _ever_ step out on his wife. Unlike _you_—"

"Shut up," Young snapped.

"_You_ certainly seem to have no problem with it," Rush finished relentlessly. "Why do you want to know, anyway? What does it matter to _anyone_?"

"He _kissed _you."

"And how is that _my_ fault? He's creepy as fuck, all right? Is this _news_ to you?"

Young didn't reply.

"Look," Rush said. "I'm done here." He got unsteadily to his feet, but Young grabbed his arm, pulling him back down.

"No way are we done, and where the hell were you planning on _going_, anyway?"

"As far as I could get," Rush said, giving Young a mutinous glare.

"That was going to be about fifteen feet. That's not even out the door."

"Yes well, not a perfect solution, I grant you." Rush poured himself another drink with dubious coordination.

Young thought about stopping him, but ultimately decided against it. If Rush wanted to remove himself from this miserable situation by getting plastered out of his mind, well—it was much more benign than some of the other options available to him.

They sat in silence for over ten minutes, sipping their alcohol, thoughts leeching between their minds like watercolors, before Young finally felt intoxicated enough to apologize to the other man.

/Sorry./ He projected not just the word, but the sentiment as well.

Rush gave him one of his fractional half shrugs.

"So, did it work?" Young asked. "Your electrophysiologic benchmark, or whatever. Did you reach it?"

"Aye. Too fuckin' right I did. You've seen my mind—the kind of order that exists there, if you'd even care to call it such a thing. Whatever it is—it's so fucking far from _your_ solidly methodical approach that you're as difficult for me to follow as I am for you."

"So, you weren't always like this?"

"No," Rush said. "Initially, I found it—upsetting. But I've since adjusted. Even then, even early on, there were compensations. Gains in processing power. My thinking became more intuitive even as it lost order. The irony was that in gaining the ability to access what lay beyond the ninth chevron, I lost the ability to solve the problem of getting there. And I knew it. Everyone involved with David's project knew it. And they fucking felt sorry for me, the bastards."

"And now?"

"And now it's bloody well _worse_, as you know. Higher math has become a dead _instinct_ and not something I can verbally conceptualize anymore. I can't even _explain_ something as simple as operator theory to Chloe, let alone impersonate a calculator, but I can manipulate shield frequencies, and generate force fields and—fuck, you don't care. Why am I telling you this anyway?" Rush pressed the heel of his hand into his eye socket.

"You're telling me," Young said, "because you're drunk, and I'm asking."

"Bang to rights."

"What?"

"Nevermind."

Young watched Rush run a fingernail over a dent in the metal of the cup he was holding as things slowly resettled in his mind. Unbidden, he remembered the sight of Rush, working late nights at the Icarus base, his hair a mess as he stood in front of his whiteboard, one hand on the back of his neck, looking utterly defeated.

"Aye," Rush murmured, seeing Young's memory. "No one really understood why I could rebuild the mathematical structure that defined the entire problem and code it into a virtual interface in the span of one night, but I couldn't keep myself on track for a long enough period of time to just _solve_ the damn _problem_. And I—well, I couldn't explain it to them. I can't explain it now. I don't have much insight into what happened on that planet. In that lab."

Young didn't reply.

He tried to think of nothing, of space, of the inside of a star, of _anything_ except the terrible pity that rose up to drown his memories of Rush on Icarus.

The man had been falling apart.

And no one had noticed.

The silence descended between them again, but this time it was less frigid. Or it felt that way to Young, at least. He could feel Rush sliding progressively further from sobriety, his thoughts an unfocused stream of Ancient and math and code and ice.

There was one more thing Young needed to find out.

"So, if you knew you had been modified specifically for the express purpose of gaining full access to whatever was beyond the ninth chevron," Young asked carefully, "then why _didn't_ you want to sit in the chair when we found it?"

Rush's thoughts exploded into utter incoherence, the most obfuscation that he had ever felt the scientist employ. Young pulled back, giving him space. "Okay, so I'm getting that you don't want to answer that one right now," Young said quietly, curiosity gnawing at him, "but I'm going to need some kind of response."

Rush shut his eyes. "I didn't want to sit in the chair," he murmured, "because I was afraid of what would happen to the crew if I did. If _I_ did," he repeated for emphasis, gesturing toward the center of his chest with an open hand.

"What did you think might happen?"

"Not this," Rush replied, "and so it's immaterial."

Young took a sip of his drink. "You have _no idea_ how unsatisfying I find that response."

"On the contrary," Rush replied, "I believe I'm the _only person_ who knows _exactly_ how unsatisfying you find it." There was no mistaking the amused edge to his words.

"You're really god damn irritating," Young said conversationally. He tried to keep a tight control on his own thoughts, but was unable to contain a brief flash of Destiny-as-Emily, standing on the observation deck, the glow of FTL lighting up her hair.

_"He will tell you. When he's ready."_

Rush picked up on the memory and shot Young a wordless sense of inquiry.

/She talks to me too, you know. Usually when I'm being particularly stupid./

Rush dropped his face into his hands. /That's brilliant. Intrapersonal advice from a starship./

/You were pretty adamant about her personhood yesterday./

/Yes well, I would be, wouldn't I, since enough dopamine got dumped into my brain to fair shut down my normal cognitive functioning. It's just not fucking _polite,_ that./

/Agreed,/ Young said adamantly. /It's also a dick move to take on the appearance of someone's dead wife. Or ex-wife./

/Aye, she feels not so great about that,/ Rush replied. /She's actually been appearing to me as Daniel Jackson ever since you pulled me out of the chair./

/That's nice of her. I'm still seeing Emily./

"Well try having a near nervous breakdown." Rush smiled unsteadily as he switched back to speaking, his cheek twitching slightly. "It may be tha' she'll feel sorry for you as well."

"You're getting increasingly, um, Scottish, by the way."

"I'm not," Rush said, his diction sharpening instantly. "Shit. I hate that."

"S'okay," Young said, waving a hand at him. "Don't worry about it."

"You have to tell me something," Rush said, staring at the wall, looking miserable. "I told you all this shite because I'm fair fucking wrecked, and," again Young felt him make an effort to sharpen his accent back up, "and—fuck. This isn't a conversation. You're just getting me smashed and fucking _interrogating me_, and I don't—"

"Hey," Young said, reaching over and grabbing Rush's shoulder and shaking him slightly for emphasis. "Not true, okay? Definitely not true. What do you want to know? Ask me something."

Rush took a deep breath, steadying himself.

Young tried to avoid feeling too relieved.

Now that he had a bit more insight into what he was witnessing, Young found Rush's thought processes substantially more interesting. The other man's patterns of thinking were not temporally linear, but rather formed an adaptive network with thoughts interconnecting based on conceptual underpinnings that weren't obvious, at least not to him.

Though Young made a concerted effort, he still couldn't predict Rush's question before he asked it.

"Why did you turn down Icarus?"

"I wanted to fix things with my wife. I fucked everything up by sleeping with TJ, and Emily—well, she asked me to stay. I knew that if took the command, I'd lose her for good. But—I goddamned lost her anyway. And she's—she's with Telford now I think. That's the worst part."

Rush grimaced. "Telford? Get to fuck. How did _that_ happen?"

"When I went back to Earth, I'd usually switch with Telford, and dropping in an out of FTL—that's when he saw her."

Rush didn't say anything, just shook his head, eyes closed.

Young reached over and gently pulled his cup away before dumping the remainder of the alcohol into his own glass and knocking it back. "I think you're done, genius."

"Yeah," Rush agreed, "I'm pure wrecked at this point. Who the hell are you, anyway, that you can put away half a bottle of, I don' know, some grain alcohol equivalent an' still be so bloody coherent?"

Young half shrugged and stood up, feeling the room spin unsteadily around him. "Come on," he said, pulling on Rush's arm. "Let's go back before I have to carry you. Again."

"Dinnae fash yersel'—ye wilnae hae t'do i'."

"You're really _very_ Scottish," Young pointed out.

"Fuck," Rush said carefully. "I'm fine."

"Sure," Young said. "Sure you are."

He pulled Rush up, drawing the man's arm over his shoulder and handing him one metal crutch. Rush looked at it as though he weren't sure exactly what it was for. Young pulled him along for a few steps, trusting he would get the idea.

They crossed the room without much incident, and, as they approached the doors, they swished open of their own accord to reveal Eli sitting in the hallway, typing on his laptop.

"What're you doing here?" Young asked him.

"I relieved Greer about twenty minutes ago," Eli said, eyes glued to his computer screen. "He seemed to think it was necessary that you guys have some kind of escort, so—" he broke off, staring up at them. "Wait a second. Are you drunk? Is _he_? You got _Rush_ _drunk_?"

"Um," Young stalled, not entirely sure why Eli was asking.

"God, Eli," Rush said, raising his eyebrows. "Do you hae to state the obvious like its a fuckin' _revelation_? Too right we were drinking. That's what people _do_ in storage rooms converted to distilleries."

"This is," Eli said, shutting his laptop and pushing himself to his feet, "_amazing_. Do you have any idea how long I've been trying to do this?"

"What?" Young asked. "Get him drunk?"

"Yes," Eli said, drawing out the word before turning to Rush. "Okay, seriously, top five desert island movies. You _owe_ me this one."

"If I were on a desert island, I'd sure as fuck be trying to get _off_ it, not watching films."

"Oh my god, you are impossible. Top five things you miss about Earth."

"Eli, you're supposed to be _helping_," Young interjected, pulling Rush forward, "not playing twenty questions."

"Coffee," Rush said as Eli pulled Rush's other arm over his shoulders, "cigarettes, paracetamol, having loads of those little fucking notebooks, playing the piano."

"You play the piano?"

"All civilized people do."

"I love the intense accent, by the way," Eli commented.

"Shut it."

"Do you think I'm smart?" Eli asked, without missing a beat.

"Obviously."

"How smart?"

"Pure dead brilliant. But you know that already, I should think."

Young glanced over at Eli to see a flash of surprise flicker across his face, drawing his eyebrows together. He suppressed it quickly, looking away from both of them for a brief second before coming back with a cocky, "yeah, of course I know. I just wanted to hear you say it."

"Eli," Young growled, "enough already."

"Oh come on. Like you didn't do the same thing."

Young didn't have much of a response to that, so he just continued down the hall, listening to Eli, with his characteristic muted exuberance, gently draw Rush out, question after question.

"Top five people on Destiny, other than me and Colonel Young."

"As if either of you would be in my top five."

"Well you don't have to worry about that, do you?"

"Chloe, Brody, James, Tamara, Greer, and Wray."

"Was that in order? Also, that was six."

"No."

They paused briefly at a corner where two of Destiny's hallways intersected, Young heading one way, Eli the other. "Um, his quarters are this way," Eli said, his voice suddenly guarded.

"Yeah, I know. We're going to my quarters."

"Um, _why_?"

"Because," Young replied.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," Eli said, inching forward before stopping again.

"Eli," Young said. "Come on."

Still, Eli hesitated.

Young tried not to be distracted by the dryly amused tone of Rush's disorganized thoughts and was completely unsuccessful.

"It's fine, Eli," Rush said, eyes half-closed. "We cannae separate. That's all."

"Since when?" Eli said, starting forward, shooting Young a watchful glance.

"Since Telford swapped me out and the ship lost power." Young sighed.

"I guess that explains why you've been MIA from—well, basically everywhere."

"Yeah," Young said shortly, fighting down a brief stab of guilt at the accurate assessment. "I'm still not clear on how things are going to work if we can't get more than fifteen feet away from each other. People are going to start to notice."

"Yeah, they've _already_ started to notice, but it's only going to get more obvious when you guys aren't just sitting in the infirmary all day," Eli murmured. "Especially since before like two weeks ago, you generally avoided each other like the plague."

"So people are talking?" Young asked Eli.

"Yeah, but not in the way you'd really think. There's actually a rumor going around that the chair did something horrible to Rush, and now he's dying but doesn't want anyone to know, except TJ figured it out anyway, and then told you, and so you're trying to be nice to him."

"He's not dying," Young snapped in sudden irritation.

"I never said he was. Well—okay, I may have facilitated that rumor a bit, but it makes sense—"

"He's _not dying_, Eli."

Eli stared at him for a few seconds, his expression slowly closing. "Okay," Eli said, drawing out the word. "This just moved up to a whole new level of awfulness. I hate hanging out with you guys. I really do. I'm going." Despite his words, however, he turned to Rush. "Are you going to be okay?"

"You're a nice fuckin' kid," Rush replied.

"Thanks? You're a complete jerk, but I kind of like you anyway. _Kind of_."

Eli ducked out from beneath Rush's arm and headed back the way he had come.

"Come on," Young said, tugging the scientist forward, toward the bathroom. "You need help?"

"Hardly," Rush said, raising his eyebrows. "You can jis stop dragging me about. I'm not _that_ smashed. I only had—what? Four point five shots?"

"You're pretty damn smashed, over there, genius," Young said dryly, "but don't take it too hard. You're not really at the top of your game right now,"

Young pulled back, experimentally abandoning Rush at the door of the bathroom. The scientist made a grab for the doorframe to stay standing, but missed. Before Young could restabilize him, the automatic door shot out to meet his grip and he steadied himself.

"Neat trick," Young said, leaning against the doorframe as Rush pulled himself over to the sink.

"Y'can stop fucking _hovering_. Ah'm no for havin' it."

Without any warning, the door to the bathroom swished shut, closing a few inches in front of Young's face.

/You're a lot of work,/ Young shot in his direction. /If you pass out in there, I'm going to make your life miserable for the foreseeable future./

Rush ignored him.

Young rolled his eyes and sat on the edge of the bed, removing his boots, belt, and jacket. After a few minutes, Rush emerged and Young got his own turn for teeth brushing and the like.

When he made his way out of the bathroom he found Rush lying on the floor next to the bed with an appropriated pillow, still fully clothed down to his boots. The man was already mostly asleep.

"Why do you do this?" Young asked him. "You know I'm not going to let you sleep there. You'll get pneumonia or something, and then what?"

"Old wives tale." Rush made no move to get up. "Besides. The deck plating heats up for me."

"Seriously?" Young looked down at him with raised eyebrows. "How does that work?"

"Energetic transfer in accordance with the second law of thermodynamics. Y' know, you have alarming deficiencies in your basic—"

"Shut up, _Rush_. I'm familiar with the concept of _heat_."

"Well then fuck if I know what you're on about."

"Forget it." Young bent down next to him and dragged him into a sitting position by his jacket before pulling off his glasses. "Do you generally sleep with these on?"

"D' you hae to criticize _every_ god damned _thing_?" Rush asked, sounding more plaintive than irritated, though Young was positive that was not the effect the scientist had been aiming for.

"Yes," Young said. "For you, I do it on principle. Now come on." He tightened his grip on the front of Rush's jacket and used it to pull the other man halfway to his feet and shove him onto the bed. Once the scientist was situated, Young sat down next to him, on the edge of the bed. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yes," Rush murmured. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"Look 't how well we're doing," Rush said. "Civilized as fuck."

"Yeah," Young agreed, trying to fight the sense of dread that he couldn't seem to shake—that had been hanging over him for days. "We're doing great."


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes: **Much thanks to those of you who have taken time to review—I love all your comments and suggestions and PMs! They really help me to gauge if I am going in the right direction. A special thank you to sacredclay for all your hypotheses. I love reading them. After reading this chapter, please read the oneshot "Promise" before going on to chapter 15 of FoD.

* * *

><p>By Young's estimation, he was roughly two weeks in the hole when it came to reading reports prepared by the science team and Wray.<p>

He was also certainly a good three weeks behind on writing his own.

Which was why, after spending a few days putting in the obligatory appearances in the mess, on the bridge, and at Wray's constitution-drafting meetings, he was in his quarters, catching up.

…_closer examination of the viral samples obtained revealed that although this strain has similar features to the plague that wiped out the Ancients, it is not identical. Full sequencing of the viral genome recovered from samples on Destiny revealed substantial differences on both a nucleic acid and protein level. Results from maximum parsimony analysis with bootstrapping using viral sequences from Destiny's database are attached as Appendix D. Results indicate that this virus is likely a precursor to the strain that was ultimately responsible for the near extinction of the Ancients. If this is indeed the case, it may have been on board Destiny since the ship was launched. Alternatively, it may have been liberated following the full activation of areas of the ship that had previously been dormant. The likelihood that it came from the second obelisk planet is very small—"_

"Shit," Young murmured. "Did you know about this?" he asked Rush absently, his eyes still scanning over the report.

No answer.

He looked up, raising his eyebrows at the scientist, who had, at some point in the last hour, relocated from his previous position on the couch down to the floor.

Rush had his feet hooked over the low table to keep them elevated and was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"Rush."

If Rush wanted to ignore him for an hour, Young couldn't really blame him.

He'd been dragging the scientist around the ship for the past week while he followed Wray's advice of maintaining a high degree of visibility to improve morale. Unfortunately, as he and Rush still couldn't separate by more than twenty-five feet, that meant that he had been forced to accompany Young.

Rush hated mingling with the crew, and his temper had become increasingly short in the past two days.

Young had taken this as a sign that that he was feeling better.

God knew the other man had needed a break.

At the moment, Rush was listening to the harmonies of Destiny's shields, only peripherally aware of either Young or his surroundings. Young could hear them as well, a faint echo reverberating through his mind—but he knew it paled in comparison to what the scientist was getting.

The shields sounded nice, certainly, but Young really needed to talk to him about TJ's report.

"_Rush_," Young said more emphatically, giving the other man a mental shove to get his attention. Rush looked over at him, taking a few seconds to sharpen his focus before levering himself up on one elbow.

"We're about to drop out of FTL," Rush said.

Sure enough, only a few seconds had passed before the sound of the FTL drive cut out and Young felt the unpleasant sensation of his stomach getting left behind as they dropped into normal space. He pulled out his radio.

"Bridge, report."

"Colonel, you're not going to believe this," Volker said.

"What?"

"I'm looking at a _seed ship_ right now."

Rush raised his eyebrows.

"I'll be right there."

"Bring Rush with you," Volker said.

"I'll try to find him," Young replied.

"Yeah, good plan," Volker said, in a manner that suggested that Young wasn't fooling anyone.

/Not your best work,/ Rush said. /If _Volker_ can see through it, then, I assure you, so can everyone else./

/At least I'm trying to behave at least somewhat normally,/ Young snapped back at him, /unlike _you_./

/I never have,/ Rush replied. /Starting now would be out of character./

Young picked up Rush's crutches and extended a hand to pull the scientist to his feet, wincing slightly at the tearing sensation.

Within ten minutes they had made it to the bridge and stood side by side, looking at the long expanse of a seed ship. It was clearly battle-damaged, with several visible hull breaches sealed over by flickering yellow force fields.

There was nothing nearby that Young could see.

No other ships, no planet, no gate.

"What have we got, Eli?" Young asked.

"Well," Eli said, "I can't tell you a whole lot because _amazingly_, their shields are still up at a minimal level, which prevents me from finding out much about the internal state of the ship. But judging by the exterior, I'd say they were in a pretty intense firefight."

"How long ago are we talking about?"

"There's no way to know, really."

"Actually," Chloe said from her position at the forward monitor, "there is a way to get at least a rough estimate. I just opened the lower bound of the size detection parameter for the long-range sensors. I picked up a debris radius consistent with a two to six month window." Her eyes flicked from Eli to Rush and back.

Rush raised his eyebrows at her and stepped forward, taking a look at her monitor. The intent swirl of his thoughts lightened substantially as he scanned over the modifications that she had made to the sensors.

/?/ Young sent him a wordless burst of inquiry as Rush's mouth quirked.

/Nothing,/ Rush replied, making some attempt to modify his thoughts. It was to no avail, as Young was able to pick out what he was interested in anyway.

Rush was _proud_ of her.

Chloe was looking up at them, her dark hair picking up blue highlights from the monitor beneath her fingers.

Rush gave her a fractional nod before turning his eyes back toward the ship centered in the forward view.

"Nice job, Chloe," Young said, walking forward to join Rush in front of the forward window. "So—is docking and boarding an option?" he asked the room.

"No," Brody replied.

"Maybe," Eli modified.

"Of course it is," Rush said.

"Guys," Young said, exasperated.

"The only way to dock with that ship would be to match their shield frequencies to ours. This would require continuous modulation of our shields in real time as the two energy fields merge," Brody explained.

"That's not an obstacle," Rush stated flatly.

"Um, why not?" Volker asked.

"Because I'm telling you it's not."

/Easy,/ Young projected toward Rush. /He doesn't understand./

"The pertinent question is _should_ we do so," Rush continued, his tone slightly mollified. "With its shields up, we can't scan for life signs."

Young rubbed his jaw with his still-splinted hand, staring out across the space that separated them from the other vessel.

"We could always use additional supplies, a chance to look at their database," Young said.

"Undoubtedly," Rush murmured.

"What's your feeling?" Young asked in an undertone.

Rush angled his head, glanced at Young, and then back out at the damaged ship. /Usually, I'd be all for a salvage mission like this as we desperately need the resources, but—/ he broke off, his thoughts dissolving into an uneasy swirl.

/But what?/

/Nothing. We should do it./

/What were you going to say?/

/Nothing,/ Rush replied, making no effort to hide the unease that disrupted the flow of his thoughts.

/You have a bad feeling about this,/ Young said.

/True. That, however, is not adequate grounds for passing up such an excellent opportunity for salvage and research./

For moment they hesitated on the brink of indecision before seamlessly tipping over into the inevitability of Rush's cost/benefit analysis when Young found himself unable to justify a more cautious course based on nothing more than a visceral sense of warning that hadn't even originated with him.

"Okay," Young said turning back to the rest of the bridge and pulling out his radio. "Let's do this, unless anyone has any objections." He scanned the room, getting a nod from Eli, a half-shrug from Volker, and an enthusiastic nod from Park. Brody didn't look up from his monitor.

The only objection that was voiced came from an unlikely source.

"I don't think we should go," Chloe said quietly. "I have a bad feeling about this."

Young and Rush locked eyes.

"I'm going to need more than that, Chloe," Young said, his voice as encouraging as he could make it. "If you have a good reason—" he broke off, inviting her to speak.

"No, no. It's not anything specific. Something just seems—not right."

"We'll take every precaution," Young reassured her.

"Lieutenant Scott," he said into his radio. "We're going to be boarding the seed ship shortly. Start assembling an advance team and meet me at the docking port."

"I'm still not sure how this docking is happening," Brody said skeptically.

"Ask the ship-whisperer over there," Eli replied.

"Just—initiate the protocol," Rush snapped, irritation and anxiety seething through their link.

/This is going to go better for you if you're _nice_ to them,/ Young sent. /You have enough common sense to realize that, right?/

"If you're wrong, and you can't match the frequencies, when the shields collide we could be looking at an explosion that's of a similar intensity to what you'd get with _a hydrogen bomb_," Volker said. "I, for one, would like to know how _exactly_ you plan on accomplishing this frequency-matching business. I don't think that's too much to ask."

Rush didn't reply.

Young could feel him searching for how to explain what he was going to do in such a way that at least _someone_ would understand it.

He wasn't coming up with anything.

The entire bridge crew was watching him, waiting for an answer.

Still, Rush said nothing.

"You guys," Eli said, breaking the increasingly awkward silence. "Seriously. How does he do _any_ of this? He's linked to the ship. It's going to be fine."

"Famous last words," Brody said bleakly.

"Thank you Eli," Rush said, ignoring Brody's comment, his tone landing just on the haughty side of grateful.

/You owe him,/ Young shot at Rush.

/Yes, I realize that. Thanks for backing me up,/ Rush said, acidly.

/What the hell am_ I_ going to say?/

/Just _order_ them to initiate the docking protocol. _Obviously_./

/Yeah. That's worked so well for me in the past./

/So you _are_ capable of learning. A longstanding internal debate of mine has now been put to rest./

"Okay," Young said, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, and addressing the room at large. "Let's do this." He turned to Rush. "Are you ready?"

Rush nodded fractionally. /I don't need an interface./

/How about using one for show?/

/This is going to be difficult enough as it is without _pretending_ to do it via computer./

"Go when you're ready," Young said, turning to Chloe.

The docking protocol was initiated and their trajectory changed so that they were heading directly toward the seed ship.

Rush reached forward, his hands closing around the railing in front of the forward view.

Young felt him let go of his surroundings and focus first on the harmonies of Destiny's shields, then on the subtle tones of the other ship.

With a compelling crescendo, Destiny's pull on Rush's mind rapidly became nearly unbearable as the sounds of the shields morphed into something tortuously melodic; subtleties expanding into modifiable harmonies that drew Rush in, separating him further from the bridge.

Young gritted his teeth, his heart rate rising as he tried to keep Rush present to at least _some_ degree.

"Umm," Brody said, "I thought there was going to be frequency modulation happening here."

"It _is_ happening," Eli replied, sounding as if he didn't quite believe his own words. "Check it out," he switched his display to project into midair.

In his peripheral vision, Young could sense the unified turning of the science team toward the display where, as though behind a gray mist, he could see red and blue wave functions move progressively into sync.

His breathing was loud in his own ears.

His vision was wavering, graying out, with the effort of keeping Rush grounded.

His pulse pounded in his temples as he tightened his hands around the forward rail.

What attention he could spare was focused on staying on his feet.

Young was about ten seconds from passing out—maybe less, when Rush seemed to suddenly become aware of the herculean effort that Young was exerting on his behalf. The scientist abruptly shifted his weight forward onto his right leg and flexed his left foot, stressing the injury, grounding himself.

Young took a deep breath as some of the pressure eased on his mind.

After only a few more seconds, the shields merged with a satisfying final harmony, and Rush turned his entire focus to fighting the pull of the ship. It took almost twenty seconds of their combined efforts to break Rush free entirely.

/Shit,/ Young projected at the scientist, glancing around the bridge to see if anyone had noticed anything out of the ordinary. Most of the science team were still huddled around Eli's display. Only Chloe was looking in their direction, her expression carefully neutral.

Rush looked over at him and Young could feel the effort it was _still_ costing him to stay focused on the bridge.

/How's the foot?/ Young asked him, trying to pull him in.

"I barely feel it," Rush murmured aloud.

Chloe looked up, startled, but said nothing.

/I know,/ Young shot back, not bothering to hide his concern. /What's going on? I thought things had gotten _better_. Our link is healing. The ship—/

Rush shook his head, picking up on Young's train of thought. /The past few days have been better because—/ he broke off, shaking his head slightly. /Because the AI has been protecting me to some degree. But if I purposefully integrate into Destiny's systems, there's nothing it can do./

/I almost couldn't keep you here,/ Young said.

/I'm aware./

/I hate to say this, but tearing the hell out of your foot has actually turned out to be a helpful strategy./

/Yes well. I've always assumed that was the primary purpose of the bolts./ Rush flexed his fingers absently, causing a jolt of pain to radiate down his arm to his elbow.

/Ugh,/ Young sent back, disgusted.

Rush gave him a half shrug. /Efficient and effective,/ he replied.

"Dr. Rush?" Chloe asked, her voice cautious, her head cocked, eyes full of wordless inquiry.

"Everything's fine, Chloe," Rush said quietly.

* * *

><p>The hallways of the seed ship were long and dim, lit by faint emergency lighting that flickered wildly in places. Changes in air pressure as his teams opened different sections of the ship caused cold air to whistle past them at intervals, lifting their hair.<p>

Young grimaced, one hand on his assault rifle, the other on his radio.

They had assessed life support. It was online.

They had scanned for lifesigns. They had found none.

They had secured the ship as far as it was possible.

But—it was a big ship.

Scott had designed a total of six teams comprised of four people to board the seed ship. Four teams were focused on salvage operations and were made up entirely of military personnel. Two teams contained three scientists and one military escort—either Scott or Greer.

It was a good setup.

As far as it went.

"Does anyone else find this creepy?" Eli whispered.

Rush, of course, had been adamant about leaving Destiny and checking out the seed ship in person.

This was how Young had found himself in command of the seventh team, consisting of Rush, Eli, and Chloe.

"Yes, actually," Rush said, sounding genuinely unsettled.

Chloe said nothing. Her face was remarkably pale under the faint blue light.

"How would you rate this?" Eli whispered. "Like if zero is an adorable baby rabbit and ten is the upside-down spider-walk from The Exorcist."

"Shh," Young said, shooting Eli a pointed look.

An draft of icy air flowed past them.

Young could feel Rush's thoughts churning with anxiety.

There was something—_off_ about the ship.

It was nothing like Destiny—Rush could barely feel it with his mind, and it ignored him with an indifferent menace.

No doors opened, no lights came on where he walked.

At Rush's suggestion, their team made straight for the control interface room on the seed ship.

When they reached it, their instinctive cluster broke apart in an abrupt whisper of self-assigned tasks.

Eli accessed and began to download the ship's database.

Chloe combed through the ship's logs, looking for information about the battle that had stranded it here—in this stretch of empty space.

Rush assessed the ship's CPU, trying to determine whether it came equipped with an AI.

Young stood in the doorframe, his hand on his assault rifle, watching the long, dark expanse of corridor that stretched out into blackness in both directions.

No one spoke.

In the back of his mind, Rush's sense of unease continued to slowly ratchet up.

"Radio check in," Young murmured, broadcasting on all channels a good five minutes before the designated time. "This is team seven." He listened to the other six teams respond, trying to feel reassured at the sound of their voices.

After only a few seconds, the oppressive quiet descended again, broken only by the whistle of air currents around metal corners.

Young stood in silence, looking out into the dark, until—

A surge of icy terror poured from his link with Rush, driving his heart rate through the roof, threatening to choke off his breathing.

Behind him, a datapad clattered to the floor.

Young turned to see Chloe, standing like she had been frozen, her hands outstretched in front of her, as if to ward something off. Her eyes were enormous, her expression tight and pained and panicked.

She was looking directly at Rush.

"Chloe," Rush whispered, his eyes locked on her, his thoughts swirling frenetically beneath a sudden headache that was nearly lost beneath the uncontrolled horror of his thoughts. Rush had both hands raised, mirroring Chloe's frozen stance.

"Don't panic," Rush whispered, clearly trying to calm them both. "_Do not_—" he broke off, one hand coming to his temple, "_panic_."

"_Rush_," Young hissed, his eyes flicking over to Eli, who had gotten to his feet and moved in. "What's going on?"

It was Chloe who answered.

"They're here," she whispered, her eyes never leaving Rush. "The ones that changed me. They're close."

He felt an intolerable prickling sensation as the hair at the back of his neck stood on end.

God.

_God_.

How could they have _missed_ this when they scanned for lifeforms?

His gaze flicked wildly between the corridor and the room.

It was immediately clear to him that this situation was about to crystallize into an unmitigated catastrophe.

Almost certainly this had been a trap—an attempt to gain access to Destiny. An attempt to finally take the ship. His best people were spread out over this dark, skeletal vessel, separated from Destiny, from each other.

All the aliens would have to do would be to undock the two ships and they would be cut off.

Permanently.

That _had_ to be their plan.

It was what _he_ would have done.

"No," Rush whispered, responding to Young's thought. "They may try it, but no one, _no one_ is capable of cutting _me_ off from Destiny."

Young believed him, and that—_that_ was enough, just barely, for him to bring this situation back under control.

He nodded, still watching the corridor.

"They're very close," Chloe whispered, her voice barely audible.

Young felt Rush focus in on his headache, pulling it to prominence, trying to look past the sense of rending to focus on the alien presence, trying to get any kind idea of how many of them there might be.

Despite his efforts, his sense of them remained vague, difficult to localize, and painful.

"How many are there?" Rush asked Chloe, his voice low and intent.

"Five," she whispered, "maybe six, all in a group. Close. Very close."

"_God_," Eli hissed, picking up the datapad that Chloe had dropped and shaking it. "Why aren't their life signs showing up? This thing is a worthless piece of _crap_. Why does this _always_ happen to us?"

A short burst of distant gunfire caused all of them to jump.

"This is Greer," Young's radio cracked, and he turned down the volume immediately. "We are taking fire. I repeat, _we are taking fire_."

Young pulled out his radio and broadcast on all channels. "This is Colonel Young," he said rapidly, "all teams fall back to Destiny immediately. We have confirmed enemy contact. Destiny may have been boarded. Radio chatter to a minimum."

"They're getting closer," Chloe whispered.

"This room has only one exit," Rush hissed at him. "We need to get out of here."

Young looked down the long, dark corridor. There was, of course, no cover.

Getting back to Destiny without sustaining casualties would be difficult with a trained group of soldiers. He had three untrained civilians, one of whom was injured.

Between them, they had only his assault rifle and handgun.

They weren't going to make it.

/Get it together,/ Rush snapped, anxiety pouring through their link, /and do _not_ frighten them./ He shot a meaningful look toward Eli and Chloe, who had inched closer together, their shoulders hunched, eyes wide.

Young gave him a short nod before pulling out his handgun and chambering a round. He handed the gun to Eli with a brief, "you've got our six. Don't fire unless you're _sure_ you're going to hit something."

"I—yeah. Okay. I can do that."

"Chloe," Young said, and her eyes briefly snapped toward him. "You're with Rush."

They were the most vulnerable members of the team. Putting them in the middle made sense. Plus, Chloe seemed to be oddly reassured by the scientist's presence and if he kept her from panicking, so much the better. There was a huge drawback to the strategy he was choosing, however, because if Rush really went down, Chloe was not strong enough to be able to keep him on his feet.

They would cross that bridge if and when they came to it.

"Okay," Young said, unslinging his weapon. He reached over, pulled a crutch out of Rush's hand and laid it silently on the deck plating.

Chloe moved in and pulled the scientist's arm over her shoulder.

"You promised me something," she murmured to Rush.

"It won't come to that," he whispered back. His thoughts were an edgy, unreadable swirl, but Young could tell that he didn't like what she had said.

"But if it does?"

He nodded at her.

Chloe drew in a shuddering breath, calming perceptibly.

/?/ Young shot at Rush.

/Not now,/ Rush replied. /Let's go./

Young grabbed the lifesigns detector from Eli, looking for the locations of his teams, even if it wouldn't show him the aliens.

The sooner they could run into some backup, the better.

Not everyone he'd sent to the seed ship was showing up on the small screen.

He hoped that meant they were out of range of the device, and back on Destiny.

Young took one last look down the corridor, before leading them out of the control interface room.

They moved silently down the darkened hallway but much, _much_ slower than Young would have preferred.

It had been less than two minutes when Chloe's frightened whisper broke the stillness.

"Behind us."

There was an intersecting corridor one hundred feet in front of them.

"Go," Young whispered, stepping out and around Chloe and Rush, catching Eli's eye. "The cross-corridor," he said to the younger man. "Make sure it's secure."

Eli gave him a startled look, but moved out ahead of Chloe and Rush.

/Please tell me you can make force fields here./

/No,/ Rush said shortly, /There's no power to draw from, and I can't intraconvert./

/Intraconvert?/

/Don't worry about it. The answer is no./

Young continued down the corridor, walking backward just behind Chloe and Rush, eyes sweeping the darkness, waiting for the aliens to appear.

His nerves were tingling with the desire, the _absolute necessity_ to make it to the minimal cover of the intersecting corridors.

He heard them before he saw them, coming with a faint rushing sound, their quiet gait echoing on the deck plating like the wings of birds.

His heart pounded in his throat and he brought his weapon up to his shoulder.

They were thirty feet from the intersection.

Twenty-five.

The things came into view, six of them solidifying out of the blackness as a mass of blue, their movements unfamiliar and alien. Their eyes were a deep, unfathomable black, but the straightening of their postures and the clicks of weapons being pulled from holsters was not difficult to interpret.

He wanted to shout to Chloe and Rush to run, but the words died in his throat.

They couldn't.

Rush couldn't.

Young sighted down his weapon, continuing to back up, his finger on the trigger.

At his back, maddeningly, Rush and Chloe _slowed_.

In his peripheral vision he could tell Chloe had half-turned to look back over her shoulder, her face obscured beneath a curtain of dark hair.

"_Chloe_," Rush snapped in a whisper, dragging her forward.

As Young watched, two of the aliens switched weapons, holstering their plasma guns and pulling out something else.

Something smaller.

He did not want to find out what.

He opened fire, feeling the gun press satisfyingly into his shoulder as he sent rounds flying into the dark. In this confined space, with an assault rifle, he was able to take out three of the six in his first burst, but not before they got off several shots with their small, handheld weapons.

Behind him, Chloe and Rush finally ducked around the corner to join Eli in the cross-corridor.

He had just begun his second burst when something hit him square in the chest. His finger slipped from the trigger of his weapon, and he staggered slightly with the impact before bringing his gun back up to resume firing.

He didn't look down.

He saw two more hit the deck before the last alien turned and retreated back into the darkness. He ducked around the corner, breathing hard.

Eli was standing, gun in hand, looking watchfully into the darkness.

Chloe had collapsed into a crouch against the wall, her hands pressed to her mouth.

Rush was waiting for him.

As Young rounded the corner, the scientist grabbed his jacket, shoving him against the wall, running his hands over Young's chest, searching for something. Only a few seconds passed before his fingers closed on an object buried in the kevlar of Young's vest and he viciously yanked it out.

It was a dart. As they watched, a small bead of liquid appeared at its tip, glinting in the flickering light.

/Tell me this didn't penetrate your vest./

/It didn't./

/Thank _god_./ Rush carefully placed the dart against the wall, out of the way.

"They want us _alive_?" Eli murmured, horrified.

/I shouldn't have said her name,/ Rush projected. /They recognized her. And me, I believe. One got away, correct?/

Young nodded, his eyes shifting to Chloe, who sat against the wall, her face pale and expressionless, tear tracks catching the dim blue light. He wished that Eli had just kept his mouth shut.

A quick glance at Eli confirmed that Eli also wished that.

Chloe looked up, but not at him. At Rush.

"Come on, then," Rush whispered to her, holding out his hand.

Chloe took it, but stood under her own power and pulled Rush's arm back across her shoulders.

They moved out silently, making good progress.

Suspiciously good progress.

There was only one exit from this ship available to them, and it was likely that they had suddenly become high priority targets.

The docking port was a perfect place for a flanking maneuver.

He envisioned the narrow passage—it was entirely exposed. No cover.

At this pace, they wouldn't reach the port for another seven or eight minutes, giving the aliens plenty of time to prepare an ambush if they hadn't already.

They would all be cut down.

It was inevitable.

He could feel Rush searching for another solution, his mind flipping through ideas at a breathtaking pace until finally—

/Yes,/ Young projected, pausing to look back at the scientist. "Let's try it," he mouthed silently.

"Did you guys just make a secret plan?" Eli murmured.

Young held a finger to his lips, then paused to look at the datapad in his hand. As he watched, the final set of four blinking dots vanished from the detector in the region of the docking port.

He held out the datapad, pointing with his index finger to the seed ship's port shuttle.

"The _shuttle_?" Eli whispered, his voice barely audible. "Are you _crazy_? We don't even know if it's operational."

"The docking port is not an option," Young whispered back.

"Why not?" Eli replied.

"They're gathering there," Chloe confirmed, her eyelids flickering, "waiting for us."

Eli looked at her silently, a pained expression on his face, before nodding shortly. He fell in behind Chloe and Rush.

/When we're back on Destiny,/ Young projected to Rush, /I assume you're going to be able to do something to get them off the ship?/

/Yes,/ Rush said grimly. /There are several options./

/Well, do yourself a favor and choose one that doesn't nearly kill you./

/I'm touched, colonel, really I am./

They continued to move silently through the dim, dead corridors, trying to ignore the ominous flickering of the emergency lights.

They had nearly made it to the shuttle when Chloe suddenly stopped, stiffening.

"What is it?" Young whispered.

"Two groups of them," she replied, "coming up fast from behind and—" she broke off, her brow furrowing, "to our left."

"How fast?" Young asked, picking up the pace marginally, bracing his weapon against his shoulder. He glanced back at Eli to see him holding the handgun low, clutched tightly in both hands.

"Fast," Chloe said, her voice breaking. "Very fast."

Again, he heard them before he saw them, the sound of their approach like wind tormenting a sail, coming from a corridor directly ahead and to their left.

This time, Chloe was dragging Rush into a near run, her breath coming like sobs from behind him.

They appeared abruptly as Young entered the intersection point of the two corridors, and he opened fire immediately. A few short bursts slowed them down, and he continued to move forward, aiming again for the limited cover of an upcoming cross-corridor. He slowed to let Chloe and Rush move ahead of him as he took down two, then four more.

He was distracted by the sound of Eli opening fire.

One shot.

Another.

Young turned his head to look and saw the second group of aliens, coming from behind. Eli brought one of them down on his third shot, but more were right behind.

They had plasma weapons, but _they weren't firing_.

In that moment, he felt the unmistakable sensation of a dart burying itself in his right shoulder.

Shit.

He kept firing, taking down two more even as he pulled the dart out with his left hand.

"Eli," he shouted, prompting the young man to hurry up, waiting for him before he followed Chloe and Rush around the corner.

He fired a broad spread, his aim deteriorating as a tingling sensation shot along his arm. By the time he made it around the corner, he could barely hang on to his gun. Numbness was spreading from his shoulder rapidly down towards his hand, up his neck, and across his chest.

He locked eyes with Rush.

"Keep firing," Rush snapped at Eli, taking Young's gun and lowering it to the floor.

"Oh crap," Eli breathed, his shoulders square, the handgun held level in a death grip as he saw Rush try to control Young's slow slide down the wall to the floor. "Oh _crap_." He fired again. "Shit." He fired again. "_Fuck_." He fired again.

Rush, his hands and thoughts flying, tore off Young's outer jacket, and then his kevlar vest, his movements economical and sure. In a few seconds, he had removed the darts protruding from the thing and had pulled it over his head.

"What's the plan?" Chloe asked, her voice wavering, but her hands steady as she helped Rush tighten the straps.

"You two drag him to the shuttle. I'll cover you. Once you get there, run the startup sequence."

She nodded at him.

In that moment, as his vision was fading, as the numbness became complete, Young understood what Chloe saw in Rush. Why she had backed him in the civilian mutiny, why her eyes always snapped to him on the bridge, in the lab, on _this_ godforsaken ship. Because as Rush picked up the assault rifle, Young knew, he _knew_ that there was no one else he would rather have had by his side in this situation.

No one else who was crazy enough to pull this off.

/Stay with me as long as you can,/ Rush projected, looking him briefly in the eye.

The scientist surged to his feet, placing a hand on Eli's shoulder to pull him back and push him in Chloe's direction before taking his place, firing a sustained burst down the corridor.

His silhouette was dark against the flickering blue of the emergency lights.

Young tried to hold onto consciousness, but sensation faded first, and then sight.

In the end, he was left only with the clatter of gunfire falling like hail on a tin roof before darkness claimed him completely.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes: ** Eli works a Han Solo quote into this one.

* * *

><p>Young regained consciousness in pieces, unable to move, unable to open his eyes or feel the deck plating that was presumably beneath him.<p>

His hearing was the first thing to return.

All that he could discern at first was the quiet hiss of air passing over metal.

He tried mentally searching for Rush but got only the faintest hint of the other man's mind through their link.

Young was starting to panic in earnest when Eli's voice cut through the darkness.

"Seriously, Chloe." His voice was low and quiet. "It's going to be okay. I know it is, because let's be real. This is exactly like the part at the end of Empire when everything looks bad, but then they fix the hyperdrive and—"

"Eli." Chloe sounded exasperated and thick, like she was smiling through tears. "We have to focus."

They sounded as if they were only a few feet away and not in any _immediate_ danger.

Again, he tried to open his eyes.

Again, he failed.

"Right. No. You're right. Okay. But seriously, if there's someone here who needs to focus, it's not me." Eli paused. "Rush. _Rush_, come on, man." The sharp crack of snapping fingers broke the quiet, echoing off nearby walls.

The softer sound of skin on cloth interrupted the snapping, and Young heard Rush fire off a sentence in Ancient.

The wave of relief that washed over him was so intense that he felt vaguely sick.

"Ow!"

"_Eli_," Chloe snapped disapprovingly.

"Don't 'Eli' me. _He_ grabbed _me_."

"You can't just yank away like that. His wrists are _injured_."

"Crap. Yeah. He scared me though."

"Well, what do you expect?" Chloe asked. "He's distracted, not dead. What did he say? Did you get any of that?"

"I think it was something like 'stop doing that, you ridiculous child.' It may have actually been more offensive. It's hard to tell when he uses colloquialisms."

"So, not helpful."

"Not really, no."

"Dr. Rush?" Chloe tried this time, speaking clearly and distinctly. "Dr. Rush, can you talk to us?"

No response.

"What's wrong with him?" Chloe murmured. "Why is he all—Ancient-y?"

Young finally managed to open his eyes, and was rewarded with a brief glimpse of Chloe and Eli silhouetted against the forward view of a shuttle. From what he could tell, he was lying on the floor a few feet behind them.

So they had made it. All of them. Thank god.

"Why is he 'Ancient-y'," Eli repeated slowly, clearly stalling for time. "Umm, not sure."

"God, you're such a liar."

"What do you mean?"

"Eli. If you didn't _know_, you'd be absolutely climbing the walls to try and figure it out. Plus, you'd be talking about it nonstop. Clearly you know _exactly_ what's going on. Now spill."

"I can't."

There was a long pause.

"Really I can't," Eli continued, defensively. "I promised. But hey. I'm just saying that maybe if you guess correctly, then, you know. I won't have actually told you anything."

If Young had been able to roll his eyes, he would have.

It was clear that he was going to need to have a conversation with Eli about the meaning of the word 'classified.'

Chloe sighed. "We don't have time for this."

"Actually, we do. We're parked underneath the FTL drive, we have no weapons, we have no communications, and Destiny's not going anywhere, so—"

"Eli. We could jump to FTL at literally any second."

"Not true. First of all, we're sitting under the drive, so we'd have at least a good twenty seconds of warning—"

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Second of all," Eli said, talking over her, "I'm pretty sure that Destiny's not going anywhere without Rush on board. Literally. Boots to deck plating, if you know what I mean. They'll be lucky if they have even minimal power."

"Seriously? He's _that_ integral?"

"Seriously. So, we have some time."

"Okay. So. Guessing. I can guess." Chloe was silent for a moment. "Rush is linked to Destiny," she murmured. "Everyone knows _that_ at this point, but—"

"But?" Eli said encouragingly.

"But there's something weird going on between him and Colonel Young."

"Weird! Yes! Keep going."

Young forced his eyes open again, this time recognizing the gentle curve of the FTL drive that made up the back of the ship.

"They're always together," Chloe said. "I haven't seen Dr. Rush on his own since we lost power for eleven hours."

"_Interesting_," Eli said.

"Rush is right. You _are_ ridiculous," Chloe snapped, sounding more relaxed than she had all day. "And then Colonel Young gets shot with one of those darts and Rush gets—weird? Almost immediately? That's more than a coincidence."

"It does seem that way."

"On the bridge this afternoon it was almost like they were talking to each other but not actually saying anything. And earlier—" she paused. "He told me he felt like he was getting pulled in two different directions."

"Hmm, that makes—wait. He talks to you? Like, actually _about_ stuff? Stuff that matters?"

"Are you jealous?" Chloe sounded amused.

"Jealous? No. _No_. Definitely not," Eli said, his tone carefully nonchalant. "Keep going."

"So I'm going to guess that he's somehow linked to the colonel," Chloe said quietly, "in the same way he's linked to Destiny?"

"Got it in one," Eli murmured.

They were quiet for a moment while Chloe digested this new piece of information.

Young managed to crack open his eyes, and keep them open. Try though he might, he still couldn't even so much as turn his head. He could see Eli and Chloe fairly well, and in his peripheral vision he could vaguely make out Rush's outline at the science station.

After a few moments, he heard Chloe sigh. "So what's happening right now? Colonel Young is out cold and therefore Rush—can't speak English? How does _that _make sense?"

"I'm not one hundred percent clear on it either, since neither one of them ever tells me _anything_. But I think that without the colonel, Rush gets sort of 'trapped' with the ship. Most of his attention is being taken up by Destiny right now. Like, he has to have absolutely no idea we're talking about him. Otherwise he'd look—I don't know. More pissed."

"Yeah," Chloe said guardedly. "That's what it _seems_ like. Although, he was with it enough to yell at you when you were snapping your fingers in his face."

"In _Ancient_."

"Whatever," Chloe replied.

"Bottom line, though, he's not going to be much help in terms of figuring out what the hell we're going to do."

"I suppose not," Chloe murmured. "I think it's up to us."

Young managed to shift his head marginally.

Some of his sensation was coming back; he could feel the cold of the deck plating and a powerful burning sensation at the point where the dart had penetrated his arm.

Hopefully _that_ was going to be temporary.

Feeling a bit more awake, he made another attempt to reach Rush.

His sense of the scientist's mind sharpened as the drug started to wear off, and finally Rush seemed to become aware of Young's efforts to touch his mind. As Young's sense of him became more nuanced, he attempted to pull the scientist away from the darkness of the ship.

For the first time, Rush pulled _back_, exerting a nebulous, powerful pressure on his thoughts.

Alarmed, Young ceased his extraction attempt.

Rush, however, kept pulling, and now Young was in the odd position of trying to ground _himself_ against the interwoven forces of Rush and Destiny.

He resisted for all he was worth, his heart rate rising.

In response, the pressure on his mind eased slightly, and he got a faint sense of exasperation coming from the other man.

/All right, fine,/ he sent in Rush's direction. /Don't make me regret this./

He shut his eyes, stopped grounding himself, and let Rush yank him out of his body.

There was a brief tearing sensation in his mind, and then—

He opened his eyes to see the inside of the shuttle lit up by a friendly yellow glow.

Young sat up easily, the pain in his arm gone.

Chloe and Eli were nowhere to be seen, but Rush was watching him with an amused expression.

Young cocked his head, taking in Rush's altered appearance. His hair was shorter. A white collared shirt and jeans had replaced his black military jacket. His glasses were intact.

"Hi," Young said cautiously.

"Hello," Rush replied, leaning back in his chair as he propped his feet up on the science station console, clearly quite pleased with himself.

There was nothing about his movements or his manner that was pained.

Young felt a brief flare of something—regret, maybe, or jealousy that it was only with the ship that Rush could be like this.

"Um, where _are_ we right now?" Young asked him, feeling strangely adrift.

"We're with Destiny," Rush said, opening his hands to take in the bright interior of the shuttle. "How do you like this interface?" he continued. "I made it for you, you realize."

"You _made_ this?" Young repeated, getting to his feet.

"I got the idea from Destiny's AI—in a manner of speaking." He paused, shaking his hair out of his eyes in a manner that suggested that he found something amusing. "She's used a similar construct when it suits her, so I figured it should work to talk to you."

"Why bother with an interface at all?" Young asked, crossing his arms and coming to lean against the science console immediately next to where Rush had propped his feet.

"Because," Rush said, "the unaltered human mind can't interpret direct input from the ship. This allows me to interpret it _for_ you. Without the interface, this would not be a pleasant experience."

Young raised his eyebrows. "So what the hell is this supposed to be?" he asked dryly waving a hand to encompass their surroundings. "Hmm? A shuttle with improved lighting? You can build any interface you want? And you choose the _shuttle_?"

"And what's wrong with the shuttle?"

"Nothing." Young shrugged, fighting a smile. "It's just not very imaginative."

"Nor is it psychologically revealing. Look. Unlike _you_, I am actually extremely busy right now," Rush said, but again, his delivery had an undertone of casual amusement.

"I'm sure you are," Young said, sobering immediately. "What's going on?"

"The most concerning thing that our uninvited guests have done thus far is rigged the communications array to broadcast a signal designed to alert neighboring ships to our presence, presumably with the intention of notifying reinforcements. I'm currently suppressing that signal, but there was approximately a three-minute window when it was broadcasting live."

"Okay," Young said. "Good. What else?"

"They've got barely any power to work with, so that's making their lives difficult—"

The man couldn't give a report in a military manner to save his life.

"Rush. Numbers. Locations."

"I don't know. The sensors aren't picking them up."

Young sighed. "Right. Why is that, do you think?"

"They've made some kind of modification since the last time they boarded us, the probable purpose of which is to prevent our tactic of venting them to space in a targeted manner. They're likely carrying transmitters capable of broadcasting some kind of interference pattern."

"Any information on the crew?"

Rush shook his head.

"We've got to get back to the ship," Young said. "Physically."

"I agree, but this precise moment is certainly not the most propitious time to re-board."

"Why not?"

Rush gave him a look that clearly implied that he should know better than to ask such a question.

"First of all," Rush said, "Let's not forget that outside my head, you're currently lying paralyzed on the floor. Second, I'm mostly stuck with Destiny at the moment, and third, well—I'll illustrate," Rush murmured. His eyelids flickered slightly as the lights in the shuttle dimmed.

Like transparent specters, the forms of Eli and Chloe faded in, their voices faint, the outlines of the main console visible through their bodies.

"We've got power," Eli said, his eyes on the monitors. "We've got navigation—mostly. Pitch is a workaround, but that's okay because there's two of us, and someone can do yaw and roll while the other one does pitch, so we can go where we want. The question is—"

"Where," Chloe finished. "We have to decide _now_. It's already been forty-five minutes. We have to help them."

"Chloe," Eli said gently, "we have no idea what's happening on Destiny. Plus, we have two injured people here. Or, one injured person, one sanity-challenged person. Who, okay, actually also has injuries. Anyway, the smart thing to do is to wait and let the cavalry take care of things."

"We very well may _be_ the cavalry, Eli," Chloe replied.

"Okay, in _principle_, maybe. But if _we_ are the cavalry, then we're the _worst_ cavalry in the history of all cavalries. First of all, we have barely any ammo left, and I for one don't think that we can really take these blue guys on without lots and lots of bullets. Second of all, what the _heck_ are we supposed to do with _them_?" Eli asked, gesturing toward the rear of the shuttle. "At a minimum we need one of them."

"Eli, we've got to do something before—" she broke off, raising her hands in a helpless gesture. "They'll tear through the crew," she said, speaking with difficulty, her expression distorting under the pressure of threatening tears. "You _don't know_—"

"Okay," Eli murmured. "Okay, we'll go."

Rush let Chloe and Eli fade from his interface and they vanished from the shuttle. The scientist raised his eyebrows at Young. "It's a bizarre mixture of adorable and terrifying, is it not?" he asked dryly. "If we make any kind of move _now_, Chloe and Eli are going to be the ones implementing it."

"This is maybe a bit out of their league," Young admitted.

"You think so?" Rush asked. "You had better go back," the scientist said, "and stop them from doing anything premature. When _you're_ ready, and just to be explicit here, by 'ready' I mean _not paralyzed_, tell them to proceed to the port side of the ship. There's a cargo bay about three quarters of the way toward the bow. I can open it and pressurize it when necessary."

"Got it."

"And get them working on a way to modify the sensors to track our guests."

Young nodded. "When do you want to be pulled out?"

"I don't think you should attempt it until we get back to Destiny. The ship—is more than a bit anxious, frankly, and it's got an—" he broke off, his eyes sliding away. "An unusually good grip on me. I'm not inclined to fight it at the moment, as I'm actively suppressing outgoing communications, amongst other things."

Young nodded. "Are you going to be able to keep suppressing that signal when I pull you out?"

Rush's expression was pained. "I'm not certain. There will probably be at least a brief window of time that they can transmit as you're pulling me back, before you tell me that I have to block the signal again. As you know, I have a difficult time holding myself in that middle ground between reality and the ship when I'm trying to manipulate systems. It ends up being quite a bit harder on _you_ than on me, I'm afraid."

Young nodded. "Like with the shield harmonics."

"Precisely. And you're not in the best shape at the moment."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"Too bad we can't separate. Then you could just leave me on the shuttle."

"There is no way that I would _ever_ consider that."

Rush raised his eyebrows.

"Oh stop," Young said, rolling his eyes. "I should get back before Chloe and Eli do something—" he paused, searching for the right word.

"Unadvised?" Rush suggested.

"Exactly," Young replied.

Rush nodded, tipping his chair forward and removing his boots from the console. He looked up, meeting Young's eyes. "Are you all right? I can't tell for certain."

Young shifted minutely, feeling slightly uncomfortable as the full force of Rush's attention was directed at him. The intensity of the other man's eyes was difficult to withstand, and he had to look away to collect himself. At the back of his mind he could feel the distant, muted swirl of Rush's thoughts, almost entirely shrouded in darkness.

"I'm fine," he said, hoping it was true.

Rush said nothing.

The silence lengthened between them.

When Young finally looked back at the other man, he was still getting that same intense expression.

"Shut your eyes," Rush said, finally.

"Seriously?"

"I have to dismantle this interface, and as I do so, you're not going to be able to interpret any residual sensory input that you might get."

"So?"

"So it's going to be unsettling if you try to watch it."

"I'll take your word for it," Young said, shutting his eyes.

The sound of rushing water filled his ears.

He felt the brief press of something ominous and unknown on his mind as he transitioned away from Destiny.

With an immediacy that was shocking, the full force of his senses slammed into him.

The deck plating was colder than he remembered it, the air was raw over his skin, and the pain in his shoulder was almost unendurable.

"—and you're the super genius, so, you know, do your super genius thing."

A distressed hiss escaped through Young's clenched teeth.

"Sure. My thing. So we know we can't land at the normal docking sites because—" Eli broke off and turned, looking in his direction.

"_Sweet_," the young man said in relief.

Both Eli and Chloe shot to their feet and were at his side in a matter of seconds.

"Hey," Eli said, "are you okay? Can you talk? Can you move? Do you know where you are? Probably that's a no, actually, because you didn't really see how we got here, so I'll just tell you that we made it to the shuttle. Can you talk though? How's your arm? Are you poisoned? Okay, two blinks for yes, three blinks for no."

"Eli," Young managed. "Settle down."

The relief on both their faces was intense, and he gave them a wan smile.

"You can't move, can you?" Chloe asked.

"It's coming back to me," he said, clenching and unclenching the fingers of his still-bruised left hand. He couldn't move his right arm at all.

He noticed that what appeared to be a makeshift bandage, comprised of Chloe's undershirt and Rush's belt, was wrapped around his upper arm several times in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

It didn't seem to be working.

"You've lost a lot of blood," Chloe said worriedly. "We haven't been able to stop it."

"How much is 'a lot'?" Young asked.

Eli shrugged at him, opening his hands. "Your jacket is soaked through and Chloe's shirt is ruined, that's about all I can tell you."

"Great." Young shut his eyes briefly and opened them again. He felt reasonably good, though it was difficult to accurately assess his physical condition. "Report," he said.

"So we got to the shuttle, obviously," Eli said, "and we're currently sitting on Destiny's hull about two hundred feet from the FTL drive, powered down except for minimal life support. We're not sure exactly how to get back on board, but we're working on it."

"Don't worry about that," Young said. "Rush has it covered."

"So, um, I'm thinking that maybe actually he doesn't? He's gotten progressively more—" Eli trailed off, waving a hand in a circular pattern. "Or maybe progressively less—"

Young shook his head. "He's okay."

"Really? 'Cause just looking at the guy, it doesn't seem like he's okay in _any way_." Eli moved over to give Young a better view of the science console. He could see Rush in profile, hands gripping the edges of the monitor bank, eyes unfocused, muscles locked, his posture rigid. He was fighting extremely hard to retain even this limited connection with his body.

"He's okay," Young repeated. "He'll be better when we get back to Destiny."

This was an explanation that both of them seemed to accept for the time being.

"Have you tried your radios?" he asked.

"Yeah," Eli said, "Our creepy friends are broadcasting some kind of electromagnetic interference. I can't get anything but static. Communications on the shuttle are down.

"Of course they are," Young sighed. "What happened after I passed out?"

"Um, you missed what was possibly one of the most badass Rush moments _ever_," Eli said. "I wish I'd had a kino. Because, you know, when you think of Rush, or at least when_ I_ do, the word 'badass' does not necessarily come to mind, but seriously—who knew? It was awesome. He literally stood in front of Chloe and I while we dragged you backwards and took out all of the remaining aliens that were moving in on our position."

"Sorry I missed it," Young said, suppressing a smile.

"Me too," Eli said. "No one's going to believe me, except for maybe Chloe, who saw it _anyways_."

They continued regaling him with the details of their escape and repair of the shuttle. Young let them do it, because it was clearly improving their spirits, and because he needed the time to regain his ability to move. After a few moments, he put them to work on the problem of modifying the sensors to detect whatever type of interference the aliens had begun to employ.

Despite their easy banter with one another, he could tell that they were deeply unsettled—especially Chloe. Eli was doing his best to keep her mind off their current situation by continuously referencing obscure science fiction movies, amongst other strategies, but when she wasn't actively engaging with him, her expression took on a pained, pinched look.

She glanced often at Rush.

As Young finally struggled into a sitting position, he tried to fight the rising sense of anxiety he felt for the safety of his crew.

Anything could be happening on Destiny.

Anything.

The thought of losing even one person was intolerable to him.

Half an hour after he had regained consciousness, he was finally able to push himself to his feet. He was forced to grab onto the nearest console to keep from losing his balance as the room spun around him.

That would be the blood loss, he supposed.

His right arm and shoulder were still throbbing mercilessly, and he could barely move his arm at all.

If he had ever been in worse shape going into a firefight, he couldn't remember it.

"Okay kids," he said to Chloe and Eli, trying to put forward the appearance of more strength than he actually felt. "We're going to need to head down the port side of the ship. About three quarters of the way down there's a cargo bay that Rush is going to open and then pressurize for us."

"Seriously?" Eli said. "And he knows this?"

"It's his plan," Young said mildly, glancing at the scientist, who was still sitting rigidly at his station.

"Well, does his plan involve keeping us off Destiny's sensors? Otherwise, this is gonna be a real short trip."

"I'm sure it does."

"Did he say that explicitly? Because sometimes he—"

"Eli," Young said. "Let's go."

It didn't take long to reach the point that Rush had indicated. True to his word, the cargo bay doors opened at their approach and then sealed behind them, allowing the bay to pressurize.

There was no indication that they'd been detected.

Chloe and Eli were watching Rush uncertainly.

"He doesn't seem better," Chloe said, looking at Young.

Young stepped forward, still unsteady on his feet, and leaned against the science console that Rush was still gripping with a disturbing intensity.

He took a moment to steady himself.

He hoped Rush was going to be able to help him out to some degree, because Young was fairly certain that in his current state, he wasn't going to be able to manage it entirely on his own.

He placed a hand on Rush's shoulder, took a deep breath, and shut his eyes.

Young seized onto his sense of Rush and began to pull. He could feel the scientist trying to help him, trying to fight his way free of the darkness of the ship, but almost immediately, Young's vision began to gray out. Blood roared in his ears, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

Dimly, he was aware of Eli talking to him, of Rush flexing his foot.

It wasn't enough.

Not nearly enough.

Rush was more entwined with the ship than he'd ever been, and Young had no stamina left for this.

He was going to fail.

Distantly, he felt Rush make a snap decision.

For the second time that day, the scientist did something unexpected; instead of trying to escape the ship, Rush used their link to move into Young's mind, much as he had done on the obelisk planet.

As he moved in, he brought Destiny with him.

Young's consciousness expanded out into a terrifying, uninterpretable landscape defined not visually, but in terms of circuits and energy gradients, their currents shrieking viciously through his mind; rushing around and through him like waterfalls in the dark. There was nowhere to ground here, in the face of this void that was not a void, this space that existed nowhere but between Destiny and Rush.

He was losing his sense of himself.

But—

He wasn't alone.

Rush was with him.

With complete access to Young's mind, the scientist was able to use their connection to separate himself from Destiny enough to escape the ship's hold on him.

As soon as he did so, the intolerable pressure vanished from Young's thoughts.

He gasped, finding himself in his own body again.

"Fuck," Rush said, from somewhere to his right. "_Fuck_."

It occurred to Young that the other man sounded upset.

His knees buckled and he started to fall forward just as Rush shot to his feet and grabbed him in a sideways tackle.

The room spun around him as they went down together in a fall that Rush barely managed to control.

He could not move.

"What's going on?" Eli's voice sounded distant.

"Quiet," Rush said, his voice cracked with strain. "Go do something useful."

"But you—"

"I said_ go_."

_He could not move_.

Rush was kneeling next to him, ignoring the pain tearing through his feet, his mind a dismayed swirl of thoughts that Young couldn't even begin to follow.

"Colonel Young," the other man said, his voice low and insistent. "Answer me_._"

He could not _move_, he could not _think_, he could do nothing but _watch,_ as his body failed to obey any intention coming from his mind.

Rush's hands grazed over the makeshift bandage that Chloe and Eli had constructed, his expression tightening.

"Colonel," he said again. "_Everett_. Come on." Rush closed his hands into fists and then opened them again, trying to control his anxiety. "_Fuck_."

Young felt Rush cautiously bring their thoughts into apposition, and, as soon as he did so, Young projected a wordless wave of reassurance at the other man.

Rush looked at him sharply in response. /Talk to me,/ the scientist projected.

He couldn't.

He was locked in his own mind, unable to do anything other than send a wordless burst of frustration along their open link.

Eyebrows drawing together, the scientist laid a hand on his forehead.

/Talk to me,/ Rush projected delicately, his thoughts flowing like water over and through the damaged places in Young's mind. /Talk to me./

Rush was _healing_ him. Healing his mind, repairing pathways that had buckled under the strain of too much information.

/Talk to me,/ Rush continued to project with a gentle insistence.

/What are you _doing_?/ Young was finally able to ask.

/Fixing things,/ Rush replied, his tone deliberately undemanding. /You're not so different from Destiny, really. Voltage differentials. Neuronal impulses. It's all the same./ The scientist was pouring energy into their link, his presence easing away some of the existential horror of what Young had just experienced.

/I'm flattered./

/You should be./

/When did you figure out how to do this?/

/Just now,/ Rush replied, his tone controlled and reassuring, soothing away what was left of Young's unease. /It's not so difficult. A circuit is a circuit, after all./

Young could feel his own thoughts settling into their normal, linear, interpretable pattern.

"Can you speak?" Rush asked him finally, pulling his hand away from Young's forehead.

Young nodded at him, bringing a hand up to his temple.

"Very helpful," Rush said dryly. "You've overshot stoicism and landed squarely in the realm of stupidity."

"Are you seriously harassing him?" Eli called from across the room. "He just _fainted_, and it was probably _your fault._"

"I can speak," Young said, squinting up at Rush. "You're such a jackass sometimes."

"Yes well, I've never claimed otherwise." Rush replied, his thoughts a relieved swirl as he helped Young sit.

"Are you—" Young broke off, hissing as a sudden shock of pain jolted down his injured arm. "Are you still blocking the signal?"

Rush looked at him blankly. "What signal?"

"The aliens are broadcasting our position. Calling for reinforcements?"

Rush stared at him. "And I was preventing this?"

"That's what you said."

"When?" Rush asked, uncharacteristically confused.

"About an hour ago? You built an interface and we talked?"

Rush shook his head.

He clearly had no memory of their previous conversation.

"This day just keeps getting better," Young murmured, running his left hand over his injured arm. "Look, you need to try and stop Destiny from transmitting that signal."

"I can't," Rush said, looking away briefly. "I can't do that."

"What do you mean you _can't_?" Young repeated.

"We're just going to have to be quick," Rush said, avoiding Young's question, "and hope we can kill them all before reinforcements arrive. Worst case scenario, I'll jump us to FTL."

Rush's thoughts were splintering like cracks feathering through brittle glass, evading Young's attempts to look deeper.

"Have you two been able to modify the lifesigns detector yet?" Young asked Chloe and Eli, who were sitting at the forward monitors, ostensibly working but, in actuality, clearly focusing on every word of the conversation between himself and Rush.

"Nope. I'm not _magical_, okay?" Eli snapped. "Chloe? Are you magical? No. You're not. We can't just modify sensors to detect some unknown interference pattern that is broadcasting _somewhere_ on the electromagnetic spectrum."

Young caught a hint of a smile in Rush's expression as he snapped, "Eli."

"_What_?"

"Don't panic."

"Oh, 'don't panic'. That's great. That's just great. Coming from the guy who regularly passes out from stress, it really means a lot."

"Yes well," Rush said, reaching underneath the science console and dragging out his one remaining crutch, "in order for us to retake the ship, we need to know how many of them there are. We also need to know _where_ they are. Therefore, it follows that we're going to have to—" he broke off, looking away from all of them. "We're going to have to capture one of them and determine how they're generating the interference pattern."

Young, Chloe and Eli all stared at Rush in naked disbelief.

"_Capture_ one?" Chloe asked faintly into the ensuing silence.

"That's what I said," Rush replied, getting painfully to his feet. The scientist reached over to collect Young's sidearm, which had been abandoned on the science console. He ejected the clip, checked the ammunition, and then snapped the component parts back together.

Young watched him with a disconcerting mixture of horror and admiration.

"Are you _crazy_?" Eli asked.

"Are you taking a poll?" Rush replied, handing Eli the gun. He picked up Young's assault rifle and checked it over briefly before handing it to Chloe.

"Wait a second, why—" Eli started.

"She's a better shot than you are," Rush replied. He limped over to Young and held out a hand.

/Can you stand?/

Young grabbed his arm behind the elbow and Rush slowly pulled him up.

"Let's go," Rush said.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes: ** Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing and PMing me. You guys are awesome. Thanks especially to AlexanderD for the extra information on SGU details. This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>Young gritted his teeth against the nearly unbearable pain in his right arm and the slow dizzying whirl of walls that he was certain weren't really moving. As he watched Eli struggle with the door controls to the cargo bay, he tried to maintain even the smallest sliver of hope that the situation in which they found themselves was going to be resolved in their favor.<p>

They were facing a foothold situation of undetermined magnitude.

His team was untrained, terrified, and injured.

The only assets they had going for them were a handgun, an assault rifle, Chloe's ability to sense the enemy, and Rush's—well, Rush just generally counted as an asset, he supposed.

At the moment he was leaning heavily on the scientist, who, unbelievably, was on his feet despite his own injuries.

Young had always wondered about Rush's abnormally high energy level—where the hell it came from, how the man maintained it, and why he never seemed to know when it was entirely exhausted. Young knew that the other man had the capacity for preternatural toughness, but he had never witnessed it directly.

Now he was getting his chance.

The scientist was in rare form—Young could feel him practically vibrating with energy as they waited, pressed against the wall of the cargo bay, waiting for Eli to open the doors to the ship.

"Eli," Rush snapped, after giving the young man about twenty seconds to fiddle with the relevant controls. "What in god's name are you _doing_? This shouldn't be complicated."

"There's very limited power available here," Eli responded, frowning.

"Have you—"

"Oh my gosh," Eli said, exasperated. "_Yes_, okay? Stop backseat troubleshooting. You always do this. It drives me nuts. Can I have fifteen seconds? Is that too much to ask?"

Rush rolled his eyes, but stayed quiet.

A few seconds later, the cargo bay doors slid open.

Chloe moved out into the open space without being told, raising her assault rifle and sighting down the corridor.

Young watched her critically through intermittently blurring vision. The tension in her muscles was slowing her down, but otherwise, her stance was passable, her expression pinched and determined.

Someone had been giving her some training. Scott, most likely.

/Are you sure it should be _Chloe_ with the assault rifle?/ Young shot at Rush. /What if she panics?/

/She performs best under pressure./

"Okay," Chloe said quietly, motioning them to join her.

"The word is 'clear'," Eli said, "Not 'okay'. Even _I_ know that."

"Whatever," Chloe replied.

/Besides,/ the scientist added, /nothing deters panic better than an assault rifle./

/Maybe in _your_ version of reality. So, let me get this straight. You gave her the gun because she was _most_ likely to panic?/

/Not _anymore_,/ Rush snapped in irritation.

/I hope you're right about that./

Rush didn't bother to respond. His attention was suddenly elsewhere, his eyes flicking between the long stretch of corridor and a point just inside the cargo bay doors. Directly in front of them, Chloe shifted nervously, waiting for some instruction.

"Let's move out," Young said quietly. "Eli, do you still have that lifesigns detector?"

"Got it," Eli whispered, pulling the device out of his pocket. "We should at least be able to see _our_ people."

Eli pressed a few buttons and held the display out so that he and Rush could look at it. Young studied the distribution of glowing dots carefully. Most of the crew seemed to be in the mess. Young hoped that was by choice, and not because they were being held there. Several other groups of four were scattered around the ship. Young assumed that they were the teams that had made it back from the seed ship. Most importantly, the path to the nearest armory was clear of any of Destiny's crew. Young hoped that at least that meant they wouldn't be walking into the middle of an in-progress firefight.

After thirty seconds of studying the detector, he noticed that Rush hadn't looked at it once. The scientist was staring at a point about five feet to their right.

/Rush./

"No," Rush whispered flatly, shaking his head at the empty air next to them. "That's not an option. I need something else. Something that falls within the parameters of my _own_—" Rush paused for a moment, then snapped. "Well, thanks a lot."

They all stared at him.

After a few seconds, Rush seemed to notice that something was wrong, and looked back at them. "What?" he hissed, defensively.

"So," Eli said, drawing out the word, "talking to invisible people now? Unbelievably, that's a step _down_ for you."

Rush sighed, and looked away, his thoughts an unhappy swirl. Something in the young man's statement seemed to have hit a nerve.

"Give it a rest, Eli," Young said.

"No—I didn't—I mean, yeah. You're right. Sorry." Eli shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable. "You uh—you just talk to invisible people all you want. Go crazy. I mean—well. Not _literally_ crazy, obviously, but—"

Rush looked back toward Eli, leveling a glare in his direction.

"I'll stop talking," Eli murmured.

"You do that," Rush replied.

/Are you okay?/ Young projected.

/Fine,/ Rush said shortly. /Armory?/

Young sent him a wave of assent and motioned to Chloe with his head to take point. She nodded and moved out ahead of them into the darkened corridor.

Without being told, Eli brought up the rear.

Their movements were nearly silent, but, again, their progress was so slow that it set Young's teeth on edge.

As they moved down the corridor, Young noticed that the emergency lighting at the base of the walls came up in a slow flare that faded as they passed. While it was somewhat helpful when it came to seeing where they were going, it was certainly not conducive to passing unnoticed along corridors.

/Are you doing that?/ he projected at Rush. /Cut it out./

/?/

/The lighting./ Young sent him an image, directing his attention.

/Oh for _god's sake_,/ Rush projected back in aggravation. For a moment, Young thought the outburst was directed at him, but then the scientist briefly pressed a hand to the corridor wall, and the little blue lights along the deck plating faded a dim uniformity.

/So not you then?/ Young asked.

/No. Destiny./

/It what? _Missed_ you?/ Despite the gravity of their situation and the gut-wrenching pain in his arm, Young couldn't help but be slightly amused.

/Can we stay focused, please? Losing thirty percent of your blood volume is an unacceptable excuse for the level of distractibility you are currently displaying. Don't you _train_ for this sort of thing?/

/Look, I need to know if the ship is going to do anything to give our position away./

/I don't think so. The AI is inhibiting most of what might indicate my presence./

/I still don't really understand the difference between 'Destiny' and the AI./

/I still don't understand why you're talking to me right now./

/You're a lot of work./

Rush ignored him, his attention focused completely on the span of corridor ahead of them. The faint parallel tracks of emergency lights disappeared into the darkness.

In the back of Rush's mind, a sense of unease was growing again.

After a few minutes, they had made it to the armory. They ducked through the door and sealed it behind them. Rush pushed Young against the wall just inside the door and tried to control his slow slide down the cold metal with limited success until Eli moved over to lend a hand.

Young shut his eyes against a heaving, nauseating visual field and joined up with Rush to the extent that it was possible. After a moment, he was looking out through Rush's eyes at a thankfully stable array of weapons.

"How do we know what to pick?" Chloe asked uncertainly.

Rush had absolutely no idea, but Young quickly directed his attention appropriately, and after a few moments, each of them had a fully equipped assault rifle, a kevlar jacket, a handgun, and all the extra clips that they could reasonably carry on their persons.

Eli and Rush pulled him to his feet, and Rush shoved an extra sidearm into Young's empty holster.

"So, do we actually have a plan for how we're going to do this?" Eli asked, his usual sarcasm absent.

"It's not exactly conceptually _difficult_, Eli," Rush replied. "Chloe finds one, or several, of these things, we shoot most of them, we disable one, we drag it to the nearest lab, we scan it for EM interference, modify our detectors appropriately, then eliminate all of them."

They stared at him.

"Why does it have to be _alive_?" Chloe asked. "You know what they're like."

Rush looked back at her steadily. "They have the capacity for telepathic communication so they're capable of generating EM fields at baseline. This may be an inherently biologic phenomenon and if that's the case, I don't want to have to do this twice."

"_What_?" Young said.

"They may be generating the interference patterns with their brains, so we can't scan them if they're dead," Eli translated.

"And you couldn't just _say _that?" Young hissed at Rush.

"I believe I just did," Rush replied coolly.

Young motioned for Eli's lifesigns detector and the young man handed it over.

He studied it for a moment.

"Let's head toward this group," he murmured, pointing out four glowing dots on the display. "A bit more firepower wouldn't hurt—but if we meet up with some of these things on the way, then so be it."

Rush nodded, and they left the armory in the same formation they had entered, with Chloe in the lead, and Eli on their six.

After only a few minutes, Chloe stopped them, holding up a hand. She looked back and made a vague, nonspecific hand gesture that seemed to indicate that there was a group of aliens around the corner.

Rush nodded at her and gave Young a gentle shove in the direction of the nearest wall, then caught Eli's eye and pointed directly at Young. Eli took up a position in front of him. Young shook his head, hating the idea of Rush and Chloe, _Rush and Chloe_, doing this _alone_.

It was both idiotic and intolerable.

Rush's consciousness pressed against his projected anxiety as the scientist carefully laid his metal crutch on the ground near the wall. Then, with a slow familiarity, he moved in on Young's mind for the second time that day. They linked up with a satisfying mental snap, and Young's influence immediately crisped up Rush's movements. Young raised their assault rifle, helping Rush ignore the pain in his feet, the ache in his wrists.

They felt sharper together than either had apart.

They stepped forward, next to Chloe. Young felt wave of disorientation as he looked at her, now just marginally shorter than he was. She caught Rush's eye.

"I'm glad it's us," she mouthed without sound.

They gave her a crooked smile and stepped gracefully around the corner sweeping the rifle up as they did so.

Chloe was right behind them.

In front of them, a group of six aliens spanned the corridor, moving toward them, their movements insectoid and familiar.

They opened fire.

Four went down in the first sweep. It was Young who made the call to switch to the handgun, and Rush let him have control. It was oddly satisfying to use the other man's body—his reflexes were sharp and he was _fast_, as Young had known he would be.

How could he have possibly been otherwise?

The sidearm came up as Chloe took down the fifth member of the enemy team, and they exhaled, gun held with two hands as they fired one shot, straight into the narrow blue shoulder of the remaining target. The alien went down as its plasma weapon discharged, a single shot impacting the deck plating above their heads before being dissipated along the ceiling.

They moved forward, shoulder-to-shoulder with Chloe, to inspect the downed alien. It was struggling to rise, clearly not entirely unconscious. Rush reached forward with the intent of ripping a small metal device off its temple.

As his fingertips brushed the gel that coated the creature's skin, it tore into both their minds.

The pain was unbelievable.

It shredded coherent thought as it sought information about Destiny, rending through irrelevant memories that Rush was throwing in its direction and trying to reach those it was looking for. Rush, still somewhat in control, tried to pull back, even a fraction of an inch, but the thing reached up, icy blue fingers closing relentlessly around his wrist, holding him, holding _them_ in place.

They could hear it telepathically calling for reinforcements.

Their resistance was breaking down.

Dimly, they were aware of Chloe kneeling next to them.

Abruptly, the pain was gone. Chloe was using a pocketknife to pull the small metal transmitter toward her. They watched her do it, the drag of the blade over the metal deck plating strangely absorbing.

They could not seem to—

Chloe pried the sidearm from Rush's grip and held it to the alien's head, digging it in to the place where the transmitter had been removed. She hissed something at it that neither of them caught, but finally it released its mental hold.

They pitched forward. Young was with it enough to get Rush's left arm out in front of them before they did a face plant into the deck plating.

They were shaking.

At the edges of Rush's mind, a darkness began to press its way in, urgently trying to pull Rush out, trying to join with his mind in any way that it could.

It was Destiny.

It had to be.

Even this close to Rush, even connected fully, as they were, Young couldn't penetrate the obscurity of the ship. He got only an echo of its intent from Rush's thoughts.

It was afraid.

It wanted Rush back.

It _needed_ him back.

And there was a part of Rush that very much wanted to go.

Chloe continued her sibilant, threatening litany.

This was it.

Young braced himself against the coming onslaught.

Rush clenched his hands and flexed his foot.

"Nick." His name seemed to come from far away.

"_Nick_." They looked up at the sound of Daniel Jackson's voice to see the AI kneeling directly in front of them, looking at them urgently. "Focus," the other man said. "Focus on what you _want_. Destiny is trying to _help_ you. Give it something to do. Don't fight it. You'll lose. You'll lose every time."

With a fierce shift in focus, Rush shut his eyes and twisted his attention outward toward the lab, projecting a rough idea of their goals toward Destiny. All over the ship, they began to hear the sound of bulkhead doors slamming shut, trapping intruders behind them. Force fields sprang up like sparks in Rush's mind and the equipment in the lab that was their destination started booting up.

Beneath Rush's hands, the deck plating began to warm.

Destiny backed off.

They took a shuddering breath and looked at the AI.

"Adequate," Jackson said, and his eyes flicked in Chloe's direction. "You'd better stop her," he murmured, his expression closed, worried. "She's in control right now, but that connection she's making goes both ways."

With that, Jackson vanished.

By mutual consent, Young loosened his connection with Rush, letting his own surroundings fade back in. He managed to push himself to his feet, and with Eli's help, he rounded the corner to see Rush already up, standing immediately next to Chloe, who stood over the alien, speaking in an unnatural hissing language that Young had never realized that she'd learned.

"Chloe," Rush snapped in a whisper, "stop." When she didn't respond, he laid a hand on her shoulder, his eyes never leaving the thing on the floor. "_Stop_. We're scanning it, not engaging it in conversation."

Slowly her eyes refocused on Rush and she nodded, sidearm wavering for a moment before snapping back into position.

Her expression was horrified.

Eli moved up to stand next to them, his eyes still sweeping the darkened corridor behind them, occasionally flicking over to Chloe.

"I just want you guys to know that this is making my top ten list of worst days ever," Eli hissed. "How the _hell_ are we supposed to get this thing to the lab? You practically passed out when it touched you," he murmured, glancing at Rush. "Besides. It's still _conscious_."

Rush shook his head and waved Eli back a pace, looking down at the alien over the barrel of his sidearm with narrowed eyes.

"Vos mos vado qua inquam." The scientist's voice was low as he addressed the alien and as dangerous as Young had ever heard it.

It hissed back at him angrily from the floor.

"Did it understand that?" Rush murmured to Chloe.

"Yes," she replied, her voice barely audible.

"Vos sto sursum," Rush said, tightening his grip on the sidearm.

Slowly, very slowly, the alien got to its feet.

"Chloe," Rush said, tilting his head marginally toward Young. With no other prompting, she slid into place at Young's side, pulling one of his arms over her shoulders.

"Teneo is. Ego mos iuguolo vos indubitanter," Rush hissed at it.

"What the _hell_ are you telling it?" Young asked quietly.

"Don't worry about it," Rush said, not taking his eyes off the thing.

"Know this," Eli murmured near his ear, "I will kill you without hesitation." Young looked at him. "That's what he just said to it," Eli whispered, before falling back behind him and Chloe.

Their progress toward the lab was agonizingly slow, punctuated by occasional commands in Ancient by Rush. Young kept an eye on the lifesigns detector that Chloe now held, and noticed a team of eight approaching their position.

Distantly, he heard the sound of gunfire.

Finally, they made it to their destination. Rush backed the alien against a wall, onto a low platform made out of some kind of light metallic alloy. Eli sealed the door behind them as Chloe and Young fanned out alongside Rush.

Young pulled out his sidearm, and Chloe followed suit, her eyes unreadable, her expression blank.

"Eli," Rush snapped, "start looking for that signal."

"Already on it," Eli replied quietly.

Young grimaced, looking at the thing. It hissed aggressively at the three of them.

/Can we question it, while we have it here?/ Young projected at Rush.

/The only way we can understand its answers is by either using Chloe, or the interface device that it was wearing. I'm not sure that either is a good idea. We have the upper hand at the moment, but just barely./

They stood in silence while Eli worked. The alien seemed to retreat into itself. It ceased its hissing. Its restless movements stilled. The only sound in the room was Chloe's shallow, rapid breaths.

Five minutes passed.

Ten.

Chloe's breathing slowed.

Young glanced over at her.

Her face was still.

Blank.

Tear tracks glittered in the dim lighting, but her gun was steady.

He looked back at the alien. It was staring fixedly at her.

When her voice broke silence, it was like he'd been expecting it.

"Let me go." The words were flat, expressionless, and so unlike Chloe that it sent chills racing down his spine.

He tightened his grip on his sidearm and glanced at Rush.

The scientist closed his eyes briefly, his expression pained.

"Um, Chloe?" Eli asked, his voice frightened.

"Let. Me. Go."

"Who are you?" Young snapped at the alien. "What do you _want_ with us?"

"We are Nakai," Chloe said in that same, flat voice. "We want what we have always wanted. To discover all that is. To continue without end. To read the pattern beneath existence. Let me go."

"You release Chloe, and we'll talk about it."

"This one means nothing. She is weak. She cannot fight even one mind."

Young _really _wished that Chloe wasn't holding a sidearm.

"She's important to _us_."

"You are _all _weak," Chloe continued. "You are unworthy of this vessel. We seek to liberate it from you. You will be torn from this plane of existence and cast into the void."

"I'm not interested in your opinions," Young snarled. "You want to be released, then you _leave her alone._"

"You will freeze in the vacuum of space," Chloe said, her voice rising. "You will cease to exist."

"Eli," Young said quietly back over his shoulder.

"Almost got it," the young man responded through clenched teeth.

"You will _never_ return to your people," Rush hissed, stepping forward. "I will see to that. At the moment of your death you will fail to find your way back to them. Your knowledge will be lost. Your consciousness will be unmoored. Unless—" he shifted the grip on his sidearm and pulled the small silver transmitter out of his pocket. He laid it on the floor, lifting the heel of his boot over it in a threatening manner. "Unless you _let her go_. Immediately."

"I remember you," Chloe said, her voice slow and cold.

"I'll bet you do."

"You are unlike the others," Chloe's gun was still fixed on the alien, but her gaze and the gaze of the Nakai had both shifted to _Rush_.

Rush wasn't looking back at her. He was still staring at the alien over the barrel of his sidearm.

Young kept his eyes on all of them.

"You will unlock this ship for us," Chloe said, her voice a command.

Her hands, which had remained so steady, began to shake.

"Unlikely," Rush shot at it contemptuously.

It hissed back at him.

Young's eyes flicked back and forth continuously between Chloe and the Nakai.

At his side, in his peripheral vision, a familiar outline appeared.

"Kill it," Emily said quietly. "Kill it now."

Young's finger tightened on the trigger.

Chloe swung her weapon around to her left, the arc of her arm leaving no question as to whom she was aiming at.

Young fired, putting a bullet straight through the head of their prisoner.

Eli came from behind, tackling Chloe, but not in time to keep her from getting off a shot as well.

Rush jerked back into Young, overbalancing both of them, and sending them to the floor.

The crack of metal on metal sounded as Eli knocked the sidearm out of Chloe's unresisting grip.

Young felt a fresh stream of blood pouring out of his injured right arm as he forced himself up, his hands tearing Rush's jacket open.

"I'm fine," Rush said breathlessly, pushing his hands away.

"Shut up, you _idiot_," Young snapped at him. "She hit you, I _know_ she did."

"I'm wearing a _vest_," Rush replied impatiently. "You're bleeding more than I am at the moment. Get _off_ of me, for god's sake."

Young backed off, letting Rush up, and drew in a shaky breath as he looked over at Chloe. She had her arms locked around Eli's neck, her head buried in his shoulder.

"You're okay," Eli said, his expression pained as he wrapped his arms around Chloe. He was looking away from Rush and Young, away from the dead alien, up toward the ceiling. "You're okay," he murmured. "Rush is okay. _Everyone_ is okay."

/Do you want to handle this one?/ Young projected at Rush.

/No. Not particularly,/ Rush replied, but he got painfully to his feet and walked over to stand over Eli and Chloe, who were still huddled on the floor.

"Eli," Rush said shortly, "did you map out the interference pattern?"

"Uh, yeah," Eli replied.

"Well, start modifying the sensors. We haven't got all day."

"Kind of busy right now," Eli snapped in irritation.

"Go," Rush said shortly. "And you," Rush said, kneeling down to pull Chloe away from Eli. "Stop crying."

/Are you even a _human_?/ Young snapped at him. /I thought you were supposed to be _helping_./

Chloe looked away from Rush, her face hidden under a curtain of her hair, buried in her hands. "I am _so_ _sorry_," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"And what are you sorry for, then?" Rush asked her, his tone deliberately light. "You're by far the nicest person who has ever attempted to kill me. And it wasn't even your fault. I'm not particularly inclined to hold it against you."

She still wouldn't look at him, and he inched slightly closer toward her, gingerly placing a hand on her shoulder.

As if that had been the only signal she needed, she wrapped her arms around him in a brief hug, before pulling away and flinging her hair back out of her face.

"I'd better help Eli," she said.

"Off with you," Rush said, waving a hand in the direction of the monitors.

/So, that wasn't _completely_ abysmal,/ Young projected at him, as Rush started readjusting the belt and shirt that made up the bandage around his upper arm.

Rush shot him a look that Young was going to classify as 'unimpressed'. /This is bleeding _again_./

/It never really stopped. Shouldn't _you_ be the one modifying the sensors, by the way?/

/In combination, they're faster than I would be. At least via the conventional way. Normal interfaces are beginning to feel somewhat—foreign to me./

/Maybe I should replace you with Eli,/ Young said dryly.

/Maybe you should,/ Rush agreed, his projection slightly wistful.

/Rush. I wasn't serious./

/I was. Eli's more reliable in every sphere that you might consider./

/Why are we even talking about this right now? Jesus Christ. You're it, okay? You're my choice—for a lot of different reasons. You always have been. You always will be./

Rush shrugged, pulling his belt tight around Young's upper arm, but Young could tell that he was trying to suppress a feeling of relief and—something else.

Something harder to read.

"Okay guys," Eli called quietly across to them. "The modifications are done and they should be syncing up to the lifesigns detectors now."

Rush reached over to grab the detector from where it had fallen to the deck plating as Eli had tackled Chloe.

They had only been studying it for a few seconds when an array of red dots appeared on the screen. Young did a quick count and came up with eighteen. He raised his eyebrows.

"Not as many as I would have thought," he murmured to Rush.

"Yes well. It's enough. We have to retake the bridge so we can undock and get the hell out of here before their friends show up."

"For that," Young said quietly, "we're going to need more people. It's time to find Greer and Scott. Let's move out."

Eli and Chloe gathered their weapons.

Rush pulled Young to his feet, steadying him as the room spun around him. After a few seconds, he had regained his equilibrium.

"Chloe," Young said quietly, "leave your weapons here."

She dropped her eyes.

/Don't,/ Rush said. /Don't do that to her. We need her./

/We need _you_ more. She nearly killed you./

/That was an unusual circumstance which is not likely to be replicated./

/Are you _sure_?/

Rush sighed, looking away.

"Chloe," Young said insistently, and she looked up at him. "This isn't a punishment. You've done a fantastic job today. Better than anyone could have ever asked for. Better than a lot of the trained military personnel on this ship."

"It's all right," she said quietly. "I understand. Maybe—" she paused, swallowing, glancing briefly at Rush. "Maybe you should lock me up somewhere until this is over. It might be safer."

Young considered it.

"Don't be _stupid_," Rush snapped. Young wasn't sure if the scientist was directing his comment toward him or toward Chloe. "Help the colonel."

Chloe looked at him uncertainly and he nodded. She slipped in beside him, pulling one of his arms over her narrow shoulders.

They moved out again, with Chloe holding the lifesigns detector and Rush on point. Young gritted his teeth against the constant sense of dizziness that plagued him more and more as time progressed.

He suspected that it was getting harder to stay on his feet because _Rush_ was starting to tire. The constant flow of energy he had been getting from the other man was wavering; and the grind of the pain in Young's shoulder was slowly being matched by the knife-like sensations coming from Rush's feet. The man was walking without any kind of support, having left his last remaining crutch in the corridor near where they captured the Nakai.

They'd only been walking for a few minutes when they heard the sound of gunfire up ahead. Chloe held out the lifesigns detector and they saw that the nearest group of four on the screen was flanked on both sides by red dots.

Young motioned Eli forward, and the young man joined up with Rush, leaving Young and Chloe as rearguards.

/Don't fire until you've got a clear line,/ he projected at Rush. /No need to give away our position unnecessarily./

Rush nodded.

/And don't shoot any of _our_ people./

/I'll try to remember that one. Thanks./

Young rolled his eyes.

"You keep an eye on our six," Young murmured into Chloe's ear as he pulled his sidearm. She nodded.

His heart was pounding in his ears. The gunfire was becoming louder. Ahead of them, arrayed across the corridor, they could see five of the Nakai.

/Now,/ Young prompted Rush.

The scientist opened fire, and Eli followed suit immediately.

Young fired several single shots, left-handed, from his sidearm. Three went down, but two turned, and immediately fired bursts from their plasma weapons. Young tackled Chloe to the deck plating, knocking her out of the way of one of the blasts. He lifted his head and saw that Eli and Rush were untouched, and had opened fire again, taking out the last two.

As the last of the Nakai fell, Rush staggered sideways, his outflung hand coming into contact with the metal of the corridor wall. Eli stepped in to grab his upper arm, steadying him, as Greer, James, Barnes, and Thomas came around the corner.

"Sweet Jesus, but it's good to see you people," Greer whispered, eyes quickly assessing Rush before he knelt down next to Young and Chloe. "What the hell is _this_?" he asked, looking at Young's blood soaked uniform.

"It looks worse than it is," Young said.

"Yeah, or _not_," Eli snapped back.

"Report, sergeant," Young said, pushing himself up with Chloe's help.

"The civilians are secure in the mess," Greer murmured. "We've been taking back strategic locations all over the ship since we got back on board. The bridge is already ours, there's a three-man detail there. We weren't sure where to head when suddenly these guys started showing up on our detectors."

"Yeah," Young said. "That was us."

"I figured," Greer said. "A sudden, unexplained tactical advantage? That's classic Rush."

Young raised his eyebrows, suppressing a dry smile.

"Sir," Greer said, "Scott and I can mop up the rest of these things, if you four want to head to the bridge."

Young nodded.

"You need a hand? We could spare Barnes or Thomas," Greer offered.

/Can you walk?/ Young shot at Rush.

/What kind of question is _that_? Of course I can walk. I've been doing it for the past several hours, haven't I?/

"We're fine," Young said, not wanting to draw any additional firepower away from the cleanup efforts. "The bridge isn't far."

Greer nodded and helped Young to stand.

"Watch yourself, sergeant," Young said.

"You too, sir."

They made it to the bridge in short order, and Chloe helped Young sit in the central chair before ducking away to her usual station. Rush stayed on his feet for reasons that were totally obscure to Young, shifting his weight constantly, clearly uncomfortable.

"Is everyone off the seed ship?" Young asked.

Rush turned his head, eyes fixed on a point in empty space before snapping back to look at the monitors. "Yes," he replied.

"Okay," Young said, blinking against a sudden wave of vertigo. Across the room, Rush swayed as well, fingers closing onto the edge of the console he was monitoring. "Let's undock."

"Initiating the undocking protocol," Chloe said, her fingers flying over her console. Slowly, ponderously, Destiny began to move away from the other ship.

"Eli," Young snapped. "What's the status of the FTL drive?"

"We're good to go as soon as—"

A sudden shriek cut across the bridge as the sensors picked up four ships dropping into normal space in their vicinity.

"_Damn_ it," Rush hissed.

Almost immediately, they opened fire.

"Shield status," Young snapped.

"Forty percent," Rush said, looking pained. "Our shields are still merged with the seed ship—the greater area is weakening their intensity."

"Well, undock _faster_," Young snapped.

/Not helpful,/ Rush snarled back at him.

"Firing maneuvering thrusters," Eli yelled over the alarms.

/Maybe now would be a good time for you to join up with Destiny,/ Young projected at Rush.

/That won't end well,/ Rush warned.

/Neither will _this_,/ Young snapped back.

Another wave of vertigo hit, and he dropped his forehead into his hand to try and prevent the spinning of the room. When he looked back up, he was aware of Emily, standing in his peripheral vision.

"Don't push him, Everett," she said quietly.

"Shields are at twenty-four percent," Eli called out. "Four minutes to undocking."

"Are we going to make it?" Young asked.

"Keep asking pointless questions," Rush snapped, "that will certainly help."

"Shields at fifteen percent," Eli said. "We're definitely_ not_ going to make it."

/I'm going to try something,/ Rush said, fingers flying over his console. /Don't talk to me./

"Rush," Eli snapped. "Are you _coding_? There's no time for this!"

Rush was borrowing Young's energy and focus to augment his own. He was writing the skeleton of a short program, the primary purpose of which seemed to be to speed up the undocking protocol. Young could tell that that there was no way the scientist was going to finish in time.

He'd typed less than fifteen lines of code when he initiated the program. He sent his consciousness after it, projecting his intent at the ship even as he tried to strengthen the link between his mind and Young's—desperate not to get pulled in.

Finishing the program had never been his intention.

"How the _hell_ do you _do_ this stuff?" Eli yelled over to Rush, as their speed increased. "Shields to _eight percent_."

Rush had created a new kind of buffer between his mind and the ship, but on the edges of the other man's consciousness, Young could feel the dark press of Destiny becoming more insistent. He yanked Rush back as much as he could, but he had hardly any energy left.

"We're out," Chloe called. "The drive is spinning up."

Rush directed Destiny's attention back out, focusing on the FTL drive, distracting the ship from its attempt to pull him in. In that moment, Young was able to wrench him free entirely.

He opened his eyes in time to register the sudden blurring of the stars as they entered FTL. Young struggled to stay conscious, but the exhaustion and blood loss had finally caught up with him.

The last thing he saw before his vision darkened completely was Rush, turning toward him, silhouetted against the forward view.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes: **This chapter contains an allusion to the Mountain Goats song "Broom People."

* * *

><p>The first thing that Young noticed when he regained consciousness was the sling holding his right arm across his chest.<p>

The terrible burning sensation in his bicep had faded to a dull ache and, if he focused, he could wiggle the fingers of his right hand—thank god.

He took a deep breath, trying to clear his head.

All things considered, he felt terrible.

Young looked over to his right and saw Rush sitting cross-legged on the adjacent gurney, staring at his laptop screen, his fingers and thoughts flying. The scientist was sufficiently absorbed in what he was doing—something involving power distribution systems—that he apparently hadn't yet noticed that Young had regained consciousness.

Rush looked a hell of a lot better than Young currently felt.

He levered himself up on his good elbow, trying to push himself up into a seated position.

"Stop that," Rush snapped, eyes never leaving his computer. "You're not supposed to be sitting."

"Nice to see you too," Young said, rolling his eyes, but lying back all the same.

The scientist continued to ignore him; his thoughts swirling in chaotic, unhappy eddies.

"Rush," Young growled.

"What?" he shot back. "What do you want from me? Fucking breakfast in bed?"

"I'll take it if you're offering," Young said acidly, his temper rising along with his anxiety regarding the outcome of the foothold situation. "But I was more in the mood for a _status update_?"

Rush leveled a glare at him. "We're still at FTL. All of the Nakai have been eliminated. We suffered no loss of personnel."

Young felt almost sick with relief.

"The only significant injury was Greer, who, in typical fashion, offered to donate blood to _you_, and then, like an idiot, didn't know when to stop." Rush glanced at a point somewhere beyond Young's shoulder, and he followed the scientist's gaze to make out Greer in a gurney across the way.

"Hey sir." Greer gave him a halfhearted wave.

"Sergeant," Young replied.

"Don't mind Rush," Greer said. "He's just pissed because he was worried." The other man raised his voice, deliberately needling the scientist.

"I was not, in any way, _worried._" Rush said, defensively.

"Oh yes he was," Greer said.

Rush looked up at the ceiling, as if praying for patience and then went back to his laptop.

"Thanks for the blood," Young said, shifting his gaze to Greer.

"Don't mention it."

"So," Young said, turning back to Rush, "you're doing _what_ right now?"

"Trying to determine whether the Nakai made any systems modifications while they were on board."

Young nodded. "Seems reasonable."

"So glad I have your _approval_," Rush snapped.

/What is the hell is wrong with you?/ Young projected. /You're obviously upset about _something_. What happened?/

/Nothing,/ Rush said, but Young could feel the chaotic mess of his thoughts start to settle, and the edge that had been present in his tone when he spoke began to fade from his projection. /You were unconscious for a bit more than sixteen hours. Nothing happened. Nothing noteworthy. Nothing that changes _anything_./

Young grimaced, noting the odd choice of wording with a sinking sense of trepidation. He tried to get a better idea of what the scientist was talking about, but Rush's thoughts were splintering into countless, barely traceable pathways.

Young was starting to hate it when he did that.

/What happened to you while I was out? Did you get pulled in to Destiny?/ he asked, following a hunch.

/No. I've been redirecting her. Him. Whatever. Nothing happened to me. I just sat here and combed though critical systems while you nearly died from blood loss and some unknown alien toxin./

/You _were_ worried about me./

/Not even remotely./ He wasn't imagining it—Rush's entire demeanor was softening.

/You absolutely were./

/Don't flatter yourself./

/Yeah yeah./

From around the corner, the sound of TJ's laughter startled all of them.

Greer and Rush looked up, the sergeant smiling briefly at the sound.

Young smiled reflexively as well, despite himself.

He literally could not remember the last time he had heard TJ laugh. Certainly not since Carmen—

Well. It didn't matter. It had been a long time.

In the next moment, however, his good mood vanished. He experienced a sudden surge of irritation to hear Varro's voice coming out of her office.

Rush glanced at him sharply. /Careful,/ he sent, his projection subdued.

/Mind your own business,/ Young shot back at him, as he raised himself up on his left elbow again.

Greer was diplomatically staring at the wall.

He was about to call TJ into the room when Rush stopped him.

/Don't,/ Rush said simply, going back to his typing.

Young looked at him in overt disbelief, irritation flowering into anger in the space of a heartbeat. /What did I just _say_ to you? Do I have to be accountable for every god damned _thought_ that I have? Just _stay out of it_./

Reflexively, Young pulled back from Rush's mind. Not all the way. He was in control enough to realize that particular course of action would be—unadvised.

Despite his restraint, the effect on Rush was immediate. The scientist stopped coding, his eyes losing focus as he swayed sideways before he was able to compensate for the pull of the ship. Rush blinked rapidly as he recovered his equilibrium. He stared at the wall, clenching his hands in the sheets beneath him. When he finally turned to look back at Young, his gaze and his thoughts were furious.

/What are you going to do?/ the scientist asked coldly. /Are you going to go in there and sweep her off her feet? No. You're not. For a lot of reasons. Some good, some _fucking stupid_./

/Back off,/ Young snapped.

/She's _happy_,/ Rush snapped. /Don't ruin this for her for _no goddamned reason at all_./

/Oh this is good. _You're_ dispensing advice on interpersonal relationships now? I can't think of _anyone_ I know who's completely and utterly screwed up more of them than _you_ have. By all means, continue./

/You know I'm right about this,/ Rush said relentlessly. /That's why you're upset. She deserves to be happy. Her time—/ and here he broke off, his thoughts flashing rapidly through remembered footage from the society established by their descendants. /Her time is limited, as you are well aware./

In that moment, Young wanted Rush out of his head more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

/As if _you_ give a _damn_ about that,/ he snarled furiously at the other man. /You don't care about _anything_ other than fulfilling this ship's goddamned _mission_. And who the _hell_ knows what that's going to entail—we'll be lucky if you don't end up killing the entire crew in some half-cocked megalomaniacal attempt to unravel the mysteries of the fucking _universe_. Heaven forbid that you tell me _anything_—/

/You have no idea what you're talking about. You couldn't logically reason your way out of a _paper bag_ let alone—/

/That's right,/ Young broke in. /I'm an idiot. But at least I'm not a manipulative, heartless, _lying_ son of a bitch who's so goddamn unstable that he can't even tolerate being so much as _questioned_ about what the _fuck_ is going on at any given time. When have you _ever_ given me a straight answer about _anything_?/

Rush shut his laptop and snagged his boots from the floor using his one remaining crutch. He started putting them on, his thoughts a shrieking, uninterpretable mess of Ancient. The only thing that Young could get was that the scientist wanted _out_. Just as much as Young did.

/And where the _fuck_ do you think you're going to go?/ Young asked, acerbically.

/Away,/ Rush responded coldly, Ancient echoing over the English that he was projecting at Young. /Only block me if you feel like going into cardiac arrest trying to pull me out of the ship./

/You can't leave,/ Young hissed at him.

"Watch me," Rush snapped, his voice cold. He scooped up his laptop in his free hand and grabbed his crutch in the other, heading toward the door.

"Doc," Greer said in confusion.

Rush rounded the doorframe and paused fractionally to look in at TJ and Varro. "The colonel's awake," he snapped as he turned, heading for the main infirmary doors.

"Rush," TJ called, appearing in the doorway. "Where are you going? I didn't clear you for—"

"What's there to clear?" he threw back over his shoulder.

"We need to talk about—"

"It can wait," Rush said. As he passed through the infirmary doors, they shut behind him.

"Damn it," TJ said, turning back toward Young and Greer as Varro appeared in the doorway of her office, leaning against the frame. "I hate it when he locks me in here."

"He _locks_ you _in_?" Varro asked, moving quickly toward the main doors and trying to pry them open. "But how—" he broke off as he put his full energy into a wasted effort at pulling them apart.

"Don't bother," TJ sighed. "He always releases them after two or three minutes. At least so far."

Half of Young's attention was on the pair of them, the other half was with Rush, waiting with a kind of twisted anticipation for the headache and nausea that was going to come whenever the other man reached the edge of the radius that defined their slowly-healing link.

Rush passed the fifty-yard mark, then the one hundred and fifty yard mark with no difficulty for either of them. He continued on, past the mess, past the control interface room, past Eli, who tried to flag him down, but to no avail.

/What happened to our radius?/ Young projected at him.

/Don't talk to me./

/Damn it, Rush, stop being such a fucking prima donna for two goddamn minutes and _answer_ my goddamned _question_./

Rush stopped in the middle of the corridor, his thoughts violently incoherent, his heart beating wildly in his chest, his breathing coming in panicked, shallow gasps. His urge to _get away_ from Young, to be alone with his own thoughts was unendurable. He was, Young realized, on the razor's edge—contemplating joining with Destiny to escape Young's hold on him.

Anything that Young said could push him over that edge.

And, if he were to be completely honest with himself, at that moment there was a part of him that wanted the scientist to go.

Young shut his eyes, blocking out TJ's infectious laughter and Greer's watchful gaze.

He tried to calm himself down.

With his own anger and frustration and hurt churning in his mind and Rush's hysterical despair tearing through their link it was nearly impossible.

It was also absolutely imperative.

Rush was physically shaking with the need to pull away. Any second now, he was going to make the attempt. Young tried to brace himself.

"Nick."

Rush whirled around and found himself faced with the AI.

"Nick." It repeated his name slowly and evenly, holding out its hands, palms forward, in a perfect impersonation of Daniel Jackson. "Nick, come on. We talked about this. Not a good idea."

Rush took a deep breath, clearly making an effort to calm down.

"Come on," Jackson said gently, taking a few steps in Rush's direction. "You've got things to do."

Rush stood for a moment, then abruptly spun and started walking down the corridor. The AI fell into step beside him. "Leave me alone," Rush said to it.

Destiny-as-Daniel had its hands in its pockets, its head down. "Sure," it said, affably. "In a minute."

This seemed to mollify Rush to some degree and, satisfied that the AI had talked him down and that the scientist wasn't going retreat into Destiny, Young let the infirmary fade back in around him, trying to give the other man as much space as he could.

He opened his eyes to see the infirmary doors suddenly give way under Varro's attempt to force them open.

Young released a shuddery breath.

"I don't envy you, sir," Greer murmured, just loud enough for Young to catch it.

He wondered what the sergeant was referring to—the situation with TJ and Varro, the messy, dangerous relationship he had with Rush, the damned poisoned dart he'd taken in the shoulder, the sleepless nights, the constant terror of loosing personnel—maybe all of it.

"Yeah," Young said shortly, as TJ swept back into the room, approaching his bedside.

"Colonel," she said, smiling at him. A real smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible," he replied, giving her an attempt at a smile in return. He was sure it didn't look remotely passable.

"I'll bet," she murmured, reaching into a cabinet to pull out some of her salty, budget Gatorade. She set it down next to him before starting to fish around for a cup. "There was a pretty nasty anti-coagulant in those darts, not to mention a local neurotoxin. It took you nearly ten hours to metabolize most of it."

"I'm still having trouble moving my arm," Young commented, hoping he wasn't about to be told that this would be a permanent problem.

"That should wear off," TJ said, pouring him some of the fake Gatorade. "Drink. It will help."

Young obligingly downed half a cup. "I hear I have Greer to thank for a blood donation."

TJ nodded. "You were in bad shape," she murmured, looking down.

The silence stretched between them for a moment.

"How's Rush?" Young asked her. "Is he okay?"

TJ compressed her lips, looking away briefly. "He's okay," she murmured, a hint of reservation in her voice. "He had a tough time for the first few hours that you were out; he wasn't talking very much, and I'm sure that was at least partially because he was having a hard time speaking English."

Young nodded. "That's better than I expected."

"So, I guess your link is repaired now?" TJ asked.

"I'm not entirely sure," Young admitted. "Unsurprisingly, I managed to piss him off within five minutes of regaining consciousness and therefore he's not telling me _anything_ at the moment. _He_ seemed to know that he'd be able to leave. Which is pretty typical." Young brought his left hand up to massage his jaw.

TJ gave him a brief, sympathetic smile.

"Do we need to talk about this virus in our ventilation systems?" Young asked, changing the subject. "I was in the middle of reading your report when we dropped out of FTL to investigate the seed ship. How concerned do we need to be about this?"

"We can talk about that later," TJ said quietly. "It's not urgent."

"TJ," Young said, a hint of admonishment in his tone.

TJ's eyes flicked toward the open infirmary doors. "I don't think it poses a danger to anyone," she murmured. "At the moment."

"At the moment?" he echoed.

He did _not_ like the sound of that.

"I've confirmed that the virus is not capable of infecting human cells," she said quietly, by way of explanation, "and I have a hunch about where it came from."

"Let's hear it," he said, his tone indicating that this was _not_ a request.

"I think it came from the chair," she murmured. "I think the virus was the vector used to modify Rush on a genetic level, and that it's still present in his system, _continuing_ to change him."

"_TJ_," Young snapped. "I thought you _cleared_ him."

"Is that what he told you?" she asked quietly. "I let him go because I couldn't detect the virus in his blood or saliva and because it's incapable of infecting human cells. I never stated that he was entirely clear."

"Lieutenant, you can't bury stuff like this in a report that I might not get to for _days_—"

"The safety of the crew was never in danger," she said, her expression forbidding. "This affects only him, and he _asked_ me not to tell you."

"He _what_?"

"He was within his rights to do so."

"Jesus _Christ_, TJ. What were you _thinking_? You—"

"What." Her voice was cool, professional. "I _what_? Protected the privacy of a man who has none left to speak of? This was my call, colonel," she said. "It falls well within my latitude as chief medical officer on this ship."

It did, at that, he supposed.

"So why are you telling me _now_," he snapped, trying to bury his irritation, "What's changed?"

"I wasn't sure before," she said slowly, "but I can tell you that as he continues to change—" she broke off, eyes flicking away and then back to fix him with her serious, quiet gaze. "He's going to start to get sick."

Fuck.

_Fuck._

"Of course he is," Young sighed, dropping back against the gurney. "How sick?"

"It's hard to say," TJ murmured, looking away. "It depends on how much he changes."

"Does he know?" Young asked.

"Yes. I told him last night."

"How did he take it?"

"He didn't seem surprised."

Young covered his eyes with his left hand, massaging his temples.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

"You need to get some rest," TJ said finally. "You've got a ways to go before you're back to baseline." She stood, one hand squeezing his shoulder on her way out. "Drink your electrolytes."

Two beds away, Greer was staring fixedly straight at the wall.

Young shut his eyes against his headache. Against the glare of the too-bright lights. Against everything.

He couldn't handle this right now.

Any of it.

In the past year, his wife had left him for David Telford. He'd effectively lost TJ. He'd lost his daughter. He had done nothing but struggle to get his people back home as they fought to survive out here, traveling through the void at the edge of the universe, constantly under siege, constantly challenged, constantly running out of resources and goodwill and morale, barely surviving one crisis to make it to the next.

To say nothing of Rush.

He could feel it in his bones—the man was going to be the defining relationship of his life. He already was. Young needed Rush, and he _always _had, right from the very beginning. He'd saved the man's life. He'd left him for dead. He'd beaten the shit out of him on more than one occasion. He'd gotten drunk with him. They'd been in firefights together.

He was closer to Rush than he was to anyone else—living or dead, on Destiny or off.

Too bad that Rush could barely stand the sight of him. Too bad that the strain of being linked to Young was nearly enough to drive the other man to throw his lot in with a mentally voracious hunk of metal; risking death, risking insanity, risking who the hell knew what, _exactly_ in order to get away from him for even a few minutes. Too bad that Rush was so god damned mercurial and legitimately half-crazy that any kind of relationship with him, personal or professional or psychic, was like walking on eggshells concealing hot coals. Too bad that Rush was the kind of person who obviously, _obviously_ was going to burn out like a fucking sodium flare, bright and hot and painful to look at.

And soon.

Very fucking soon.

Despite the distressing trajectory of his thoughts, Young was exhausted enough to fall asleep.

* * *

><p>When he awoke, Greer had been released and he was alone in the infirmary.<p>

The light in TJ's office was on, a yellow glow spilling out from the open door frame. He wasn't sure of the time, but the automatic dimming of the overhead lights told him that it was past twenty-two hundred hours.

He was alone.

On his nightstand, TJ had left one of her chocolate covered power bars with a note that said: 'Eat this when you wake up', in her delicate loopy hand. He raised the back of the gurney to a sitting position, then started in on the power bar, trying to enjoy the taste, but failing miserably.

"Hi." Eli's uncertain voice came from the doorframe, startling him.

"Hey Eli. Come on in."

"How's the arm? And the toxins and stuff? Are you better?"

"Yeah," Young said with a sigh. "Mostly."

"Good," Eli said, standing awkwardly next to the bed, looking like he wasn't sure what to do with his hands. "That's good."

"Take a seat," Young said, motioning with his head toward the adjacent gurney that Rush had occupied earlier. "What's on your mind?"

"I'm hiding. Rush is absolutely _terrorizing_ the science team downstairs," he said, with a wry smile. "I only just escaped. Chloe agreed to talk him down in an hour if he hasn't gotten it out of his system by then."

Young took another bite of his power bar and washed it down with budget Gatorade.

"An hour?" Young asked. "It must be nearly midnight."

"Yeah," Eli said, his expression tiredly amused. "Everyone's kind of enjoying it a little bit except for maybe Volker. It's like old times, just a little bit more—friendly, I guess is the word." Eli paused briefly, glancing at Young uncertainly before continuing. "So I see that your um—link thing," he made a vague hand motion, "or whatever? It's fixed? You guys can separate now?"

"Yeah," Young said. "That was news to me."

"Did _he_ fix it?" Eli asked quietly.

"He must have," Young replied. "But ah—he's not really in a talkative mood at the moment."

"Did you guys have a fight?"

"You might call it that."

Eli looked at the wall.

It occurred to Young that they were perhaps about to have a serious conversation—the kind of conversation that he generally tried to avoid with his subordinates, and that, to his knowledge, Eli avoided at all costs.

Young's eyes raked the room, searching for some way to divert the conversation, to bring it back into the realm that he was comfortable dealing with.

But it was just an empty room.

"Have I, um, ever told you about my mom?" Eli still wasn't looking at him.

Young knew about the situation with Eli's mother, of course. Wray had filled him in several months ago when she had obtained special permission for Mrs. Wallace to use the communication stones to come aboard Destiny. But Eli had never said anything to Young about it. Not directly.

"No," Young said quietly. "You haven't."

"Yeah, you know the big stuff, I'm sure, what with the HIV and the depression and all that."

"Wray told me some of it. I'm sure it must have been difficult for you."

"No. Well, _yeah_, I mean, of course it was, but that's not why I'm bringing it up. I can deal with it, and I have. I don't need a pep talk or a shoulder to cry on, or any of that, if that's what you're thinking."

"Okay," Young said, not entirely sure where he was going with this.

Eli paused for a moment. "My mom never really talked to me about any of what she was going through. I mean, it makes sense, right? I was just a kid when it happened. How could I have really understood? But the thing that I tried to explain to her, but that she never really got, was that it's hard to be the one on the outside, looking in at this secret, horrible thing that you don't understand, and that you don't really _want_ to understand. It sucks. It really really sucks. And I get that." Eli stopped talking, his eyes fixed on the line in the darkness where the wall met the ceiling.

Young stared at him.

"And in a situation like that, people don't lie to you about what's going on because they want to hurt you or because they have secret nefarious plans. Usually. Anyway, I think they do it because they want to stop you from feeling something that they don't want you to feel. Maybe they don't want your pity, or your concern, or maybe they don't want to upset you. Sometimes they lie to you because they don't want to hurt you."

"I'm sure that was the case with your mom, Eli," Young said gently, "but if we're talking about what I think we're talking about—well, it's different."

"You watch him," Eli said quietly. "And I mean _really_ watch him. And then talk to me."

Young wasn't sure what to say, so he said nothing.

"Well, anyway," Eli said with false bravado, "that's pretty much all I wanted to say, except for that Chloe and Matt and Greer and I had an idea. We were thinking that tomorrow, after you get released from the infirmary, maybe the entire crew could have a '_social gathering'_," he paused for emphasis, making scare quotes with his fingers. "Because a _party_ would be very inappropriate in miserable times like these what with the aliens and the chasing and the injuries and the lack of food, _but_—" he paused with an expansive hand gesture, "_b__ut_, it_ is_ true that everyone's alive_, and_, the first of the seeds from the seed bank just sprouted in the hydroponics lab part two, _and_, Brody was just downstairs, and he was like 'what should I do with all this alcohol that I have?' because apparently there hasn't been that much social drinking going on, plus we have a few people who are very close to winning Destiny bingo—"

"Bingo?"

"Did I just say that? Don't even worry about it. Anyways, what do you think?"

"That sounds fine, as long as we don't use any extra rations."

"Food would just dilute the effect of the alcohol anyway."

"Um, yeah," Young said, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. "I suppose so."

"Awesome. And you're definitely coming, right? Because you kind of have to. For morale and all."

"Yeah, I'll be there."

"Excellent. Chloe's plan is to try to get Rush to come by telling him there's some kind of math-related emergency in the mess. I say he's going to see right through that one. He's so suspicious. An instrumentation overload? _That_ he might believe, but what the heck kind of instruments are in the mess? None really. But we're working on it."

"Don't _actually_ create an overload," Young said, looking at him meaningfully.

"Duh. Obviously."

Was it his imagination, or had Eli looked slightly guilty at that comment.

"Even if you get him there, you're never going to convince him to stay," Young said, raising his eyebrows.

"One step at a time," Eli said airily, as he hopped off the gurney. "I'll see you tomorrow."

After Eli left, the room seemed empty.

He spent five minutes finishing his power bar and fake Gatorade before finally giving in to the temptation to check in on Rush. The barest touch of his thoughts against the scientist's mind showed him to be in the control interface room, absorbed in assessing the integrity of power relays. Young didn't stay long enough to know if Rush sensed his brief intrusion.

He sat forward, grabbing the radio that TJ had left next to his bed. His hand closed around its comforting weight. He wanted to call Rush, but he had no idea what he was going to say. He couldn't exactly apologize over an open channel.

He sat in silence, trying to think of something to say to the other man, until sleep finally claimed him.

* * *

><p>When he awoke the next day he felt significantly better. TJ confirmed that he had metabolized all of the last traces of the toxin that had been present in the dart, and consequently he managed to convince her to release him by early afternoon.<p>

The first thing he did was set out in search of Rush.

He found him, unsurprisingly, in the control interface room, feet propped on the chair next to him, eyes scanning rapidly back and forth between his laptop and one of the monitors. He didn't look up, not even when Young hit the door controls and leaned back against the metal of the doorframe.

They were alone.

"Hi," Young said finally.

"Hello." Rush responded without looking at him.

Already this was going much better than Young had expected.

"I'm a jackass," Young stated.

"You will get no argument from me on that count," Rush replied coolly.

"I'm sorry," Young said, forcing the words out.

"Yes."

That one was hard to interpret. Was it a 'yes, I'm sorry too,' or a 'yes, you _should_ be sorry'?

The man had probably left it ambiguous on purpose.

"Are you okay?" Young asked.

"I'm fine."

"You look exhausted."

"You look half-dead," Rush replied, still not looking up from his computer.

"Did you fix our link?" Young asked him.

"It's not fixed," Rush said with a sigh, his eyes finally flicking to Young's face.

"It _seems_ fixed."

"It's better than it was, certainly. Likely that's a result of all of the linking up we did when we were trying to take the ship back from the Nakai. Even so, our radius would only be about one hundred feet at the moment if we weren't getting additional help." He paused, digging the heel of one hand into his eye. "Destiny's gotten a feel for the problem and is pouring energy into our link. It's boosting our range. Outside the context of the ship, we'll still be limited."

"Ah." Young really hadn't understood hardly any of that. "Would this be Destiny-the-ship, or Destiny-the-AI?"

"The ship." Rush sounded genuinely exhausted. "I'm giving it things to do."

Young studied him, trying to discern any sign of illness. Any sign of infection with an Ancient virus. He saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"Can I _help_ you?" Rush said, his words taking on the faux smoothness of mounting irritation.

It occurred to Young that he'd been staring at Rush for several seconds.

"I talked to TJ," he said.

"Ah," Rush said, his hands freezing in midair above his keyboard. "I was going to tell you. Eventually."

"She said you weren't surprised."

Rush shook his head. "It's how the plague _began_, you know. They were trying to effect the genetic changes required for ascension and created a virus that destroyed them even as facilitated the willful transition of matter to pure energy."

"Great," Young said.

"There were many who could not ascend," Rush murmured, his thoughts echoing with people in clothes of a foreign cut, of spoken Ancient inside elegant, alien architecture. "Many who wished for a different path."

"What happened to them?" Young asked.

"They died," Rush said.

Young said nothing.

Rush looked at him.

"Those aren't your memories, Rush."

"I know that," Rush replied, shaking his hair back. "Of course I know. How's your arm?" Rush asked, his thoughts shattering apart with the overt subject-change, his eyes flicking toward the sling Young was wearing. "Tamara said you'd get full function back eventually."

"I can move my fingers. More and more all the time."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks," Young said dryly. "How long has it been since you _slept_?"

"Do you know how many times I get asked that in a given day? As if chronic sleep deprivation explains everything about me."

"It would clear up a lot of things," Young said dryly. "You're avoiding the question."

"We're unusually perspicacious today," Rush said dryly, his thoughts colored with amused overtones. "What's the occasion?" There was a notable lack of animosity in his response.

"Rush."

"What?"

"Stop being so difficult."

"That will never happen."

Young sighed and spent a brief moment considering the merits of trying to force the other man to take a few hours off. The idea of _forcing_ Rush to do anything was, at the moment, an extremely unappealing prospect. So instead, Young hit the door controls.

"You know what you are, right?" he asked.

Rush looked up, his expression guarded. "A lot of work?" he hazarded.

"Yeah, but I like you anyway." And with that, Young left the room.

* * *

><p>The party had been in full swing for an hour when Chloe finally got Rush to make an appearance.<p>

Young was sitting at a table near the back with Scott, Eli, Park, and Greer when the pair of them approached.

Chloe looked extremely satisfied.

Rush looked—hmm.

Young wasn't sure what that look was exactly. He decided on a mixture of confused, suspicious, and disdainful. So—situation normal, in other words.

"Hey guys," Chloe said, taking a seat next to Scott. "Dr. Rush was just going to settle a little debate between me and Eli."

"Actually," Rush said, edging backwards slightly, clearly intending to make a break for the exit, leaning on his remaining crutch, "I have to—"

"Get over here," Young said gruffly, reaching out with his left hand to snag Rush's jacket sleeve and pull him forward. Rush grudgingly allowed himself to be dragged into a seated position with an irascible swirl of thought that began without direction and then seemed to center on Eli.

"Why are there so many kinos in here?" Rush asked, raising his voice to be heard over whatever it was that was coming out of the jury-rigged sound system. He gave Eli a pointed look.

"We're recording this for posterity," Eli said.

"And this requires over _twenty_ kinos?" Rush's eyes were narrowing.

"Yes. Yes it does. You need a drink. I'll be back."

Young was slowly sipping on his first and ideally his _only_ drink of the evening.

You should take it easy," he murmured to Rush.

"Yes, thanks, I remember last time."

Eli returned shortly with Rush's drink, and he and Chloe launched into their point of contention in their attempt to prove that for any compact simple gauge group G, a non-trivial quantum Yang-Mills theory existed on R to the fourth—

And, Young stopped listening.

He was more interested at what seemed to be going on at the front of the mess hall, which looked like it involved Brody and Wray setting up some kind of viewscreen. After about twenty minutes of math, which ultimately expanded to involve Park, leaving Young, Scott, and Greer to reminisce about the steakhouse which was roughly ten minutes down the road from the Cheyenne Mountain base, Wray got up on one of the tables, balancing carefully in her practical black pumps.

Greer whistled loudly. "Take it _off_, woman!"

Park slapped him on the shoulder with the back of her hand.

"I'm citing you for that, sergeant," Wray called back, mouth contorting slightly with the effort to suppress a smile.

"I just remembered that I—" Rush began, half-standing, but Chloe pulled him back down.

"So, as you all know, we've recently had three teams claim to have _won_ 'Destiny Bingo'."

"What the _hell_ is 'Destiny Bingo'?" Young asked the table at large.

Greer reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small, handmade card arranged in a five-by-five grid, passing it over to Young. Tiny, neatly scripted text filled each box.

"Now, there are certain members of the crew who have not been introduced to this version of bingo, and the main reason for that is that they feature prominently in the game itself. So here to explain it to them is the game's creator. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Eli Wallace."

Eli shot Young and Rush a guilty look.

"Night shifts for a _week_," Rush hissed at him, "and I don't even know what it is you've done yet."

"I second that," Young called after him.

Eli rolled his eyes at them as he approached the front of the room.

"Hey guys," Eli said, climbing up on the table next to Wray. "So, um, as you all know, we have a really awesome commanding officer—" he broke off for a moment to let the whistles and table banging subside, "and a chief scientist that we all kinda love to hate on, but he pulls us out of the fire regularly, so—" and again the room was filled with an eruption of noise. "Anyway, the idea for this sort of came out of the fact that neither Colonel Young nor Dr. Rush ever want to put anything down for the record on the kino footage that I'm assembling to document our progress. And our mission. And whatnot."

"Get to the good part," Greer yelled.

/I'm leaving,/ Rush projected at him.

/Don't you dare,/ Young replied, his hand closing in an iron grip around Rush's forearm. /If I have to sit through this, then so do you./

"So Chloe and I made up these cards," Eli said, holding up an example, "with different events on them that people had to capture on kino footage involving Rush or Young or both. You have to get five squares in a row to win."

Young looked more closely at the card that Greer had given him.

'Young tells Rush he's A.L.O.W.,' was the first one he read. 'Rush says something nice about Volker.'

Oh god.

"Okay," Eli said, "so, since we have three teams claiming victory, we're going to have to vote on the best overall compilation. We'll start with Team Future—which, I'm sure no one is surprised to learn, is Brody and Volker."

Eli leaned over to start his computer.

"Please let me form no memories of this," Rush murmured.

"Square D1—'Rush fails to answer his radio'."

_Rush is sitting in the control interface room, a pen held between his teeth like a cigarette as he types furiously on his laptop.  
><em>"_Volker to Rush," his radio crackles.  
><em>_Rush looks at it, raising his eyebrows.  
><em>"_Volker to Rush, I know you're there. Pick up the damn radio."  
><em>_Rush rolls his eyes and continues to type.  
><em>"_What if this were an emergency?" Volker says in aggravation. "I could be _dying_ right now."  
><em>_Rush continues to type. Ten seconds pass.  
><em>"_Young to Rush."  
><em>_Rush sighs. "What."  
><em>"_Volker says you're not answering your radio."  
><em>"_Clearly untrue. Rush out."  
><em>"_Rush."  
><em>"_Maybe his radio isn't working."  
><em>"_For the third time this week?"  
><em>_Rush shrugs and goes back to typing._

"You _bastard_," Volker shouted from the back of the room amidst laughter, turning to look over at Rush. "I _knew_ it."

Rush dug the heel of one hand into his eye socket.

"Square D2, 'Young deliberately baits Rush'."

"_Why is this taking so long?" Young says, looking back over his shoulder and then getting up to move over to Rush's station and perch on the edge of the monitor banks.  
><em>"_I'm testing the integrity of every component of a complex mixed-signal circuit." Rush is trying to ignore him.  
><em>"_Is that supposed to impress me?" Young responds.  
><em>_Rush glares at him briefly before going back to work. "Do you think I'm doing this for my own amusement?"  
><em>"_Maybe," Young says, "I can never tell with you."  
><em>"_Would you mind taking your useless commentary elsewhere?"  
><em>"_I would, actually. Look, we need these repairs completed this afternoon."  
><em>"_Is that so?" Rush snaps.  
><em>"_Is there anything I can do to expedite this process?"  
><em>"_Shut up," Rush suggested.  
><em>"_That's 'shut up, _colonel'_."  
><em>_Rush looks up at him with narrowed eyes. Young crosses his arms.  
><em>"_Oh my god," Eli whispers, and the kino pans over to take him in, eyes flicking between his monitor and whomever is directing the camera. "Seriously? They need to, like, get a room." He pauses. "Wait. Did you just film that? I swear to god if this appears in Destiny bingo I'm going to disqualify you immediately—" he reaches over, blocking the camera._

"And yeah, you're totally disqualified for that," Eli said good-naturedly, yelling over the whistles and general disruptiveness of the room. A faint blush was coloring the back of his neck.

/Do I _bait_ you?/ Young asked.

/You're certainly very irritating./

"Wait—on what grounds?" Volker yelled.

"Humiliating the inventor of this game will get you booted out. It's in the fine print. We're moving on to Team Chloe and Matt. You guys. Seriously? That is the worst team name _ever_. I expect better from you. Okay, square A1, Rush says something nice about Volker."

_Chloe and Rush are sitting in the control interface room, a kino hovering beneath a nearby monitor.  
><em>"_Volker did these calculations," Chloe says.  
><em>_Rush says nothing.  
><em>"_He's really very nice," Chloe continues. "Don't you think?"  
><em>"_I don't spend much time contemplating Volker," Rush replies absently.  
><em>"_He has nice hair," Chloe says. "He always looks very professional."  
><em>_Rush gives her an odd look.  
><em>"_I heard that he was a national ping-pong champion. Did you know that?"  
><em>"_I'm sure that's untrue," Rush replies.  
><em>"_Oh I don't know. He's got good reflexes. Too bad we don't have any ping-pong balls."  
><em>_Rush says nothing.  
><em>"_He's got a great sense of humor."  
><em>_Rush looks up at her. "Are you—no longer involved with Lieutenant Scott?"  
><em>_Chloe stares at him. "What?"  
><em>_Rush stares back at her.  
><em>"_Oh. OH. No. No, I just—I'm not—I mean, Matt and I are great. Matt is great. Matt is like, one hundred percent the best."  
><em>_Rush cocks his head.  
><em>"_It's just I think Volker is underestimated sometimes. He's got a lot of really great qualities, don't you think?"  
><em>_Rush narrows his eyes at her. "Are you trying to set _me_ up with Volker?"  
><em>"_No! I just—no, I mean, why would you even—like, I couldn't _imagine_—you and Volker would NOT be a good match. I'm just trying to say that it would be really great for the science team if the two of you got along a little bit better."  
><em>_Rush looks back at his laptop. "I see."  
><em>_Several seconds pass.  
><em>"_He does have excellent penmanship," Rush says.  
><em>_Chloe winks at the kino._

/Do you think this is going to be over any time in the foreseeable future?/ Rush projected weakly.

"Okay, square B1, 'Colonel Young uses a gun for something other than its intended purpose. I see that this is a montage?"

/I hope so,/ Young replied, watching himself rig up a system of two unloaded rifles to prevent the automatic closure of the infirmary doors as they relocated medical equipment. /I really hope so./

* * *

><p>The entire thing dragged on for an embarrassing, interminable fifteen minutes.<p>

In the end it was the team of Park, TJ, and Wray who won the enviable prize of 'lifelong respect and a mention in the credits of Eli's documentary,' primarily for their artistically arranged montage of eye-rolling from both himself and Rush.

To his credit, Rush stayed for the whole thing—a harassed, incredulous expression on his face. He seemed too surprised, or maybe too exhausted, to maintain any level of anger for very long, but as soon as it was expedient to do so, the other man made his exit.

Young let him go.

There was really only so much general goodwill that Rush could handle and still retain his mental equilibrium.

And there _had_ been a lot of goodwill. Eli had been careful to keep any of the categories from devolving into anything mean-spirited or too revealing. Whether or not it had been Eli's original intention, Young was certain that the entire project had been an extremely successful exercise in misdirection—a distraction from some of the more concerning gossip that had likely been making its rounds through the crew. Eli had managed to smooth out the differences between Young and Rush—making them seem humorous, making them seem harmless.

If only they really were those people on the kino footage.

If only their relationship always had that same harassed camaraderie, that same venomless banter. But John Sheppard and Rodney McKay, they were not.

Everything that really defined them had ended up on the cutting room floor.

Young stayed for several more hours, watching the night slowly degenerate into something wilder, soaked with alcohol, drowned out by music. Chloe was in her element here, and Greer, and Park. He let his eyes pass over TJ, dancing with Varro, feeling more than a twinge of regret. His gaze landed finally on Eli, who was leaning against the wall, drink in hand, watching the festivities with an expression on his face that Young couldn't make out. As if he could sense Young's gaze, Eli looked over at him.

Young beckoned.

"Hey," Eli said, after he'd threaded his way through the crowd, managing to avoid being flagged down by Barnes and Atienza.

"Hey," Young said.

"Um," Eli said, immediately looking slightly abashed. "Sorry about that kino thing. I started it before the stuff with the chair and all, but it seemed too suspicious not to continue it. But I looked at everything beforehand, other than that part that Brody inserted at, like, _literally_ the last minute. He's sneaky when he wants to be."

"I thought it was great," Young said.

"Nah. Really? Um, in that case, do you think you can you protect me from Rush? I'm pretty sure he was _not_ kidding about night shifts for a week. And that's probably the least of my worries."

"I'll do what I can," Young replied dryly.

"Good. He listens to you."

Young shot him a skeptical look.

"Okay, he listens to you about fifteen percent of the time, and only if he happens to already have decided that he agrees with you, but that's better than _my_ track record."

"Don't sell yourself short."

"Yeah," Eli said with a sigh. "Sure."

Young crossed his arms. "You're really something else, you know that?"

"Um? Thanks?"

"Eli!" Chloe called from across the room. "Eli!"

"Duty calls," Eli said, disappearing into the crowd.

He stood against the wall, alone, watching the crew, until, in his peripheral vision, he became aware of a familiar silhouette leaning against the back wall between him and the doorway.

It was a good ten seconds before it spoke.

"I like him," it murmured with Emily's friendly simplicity.

He looked over to watch its gaze follow Eli as he moved towards the front of the room.

"Me too," Young said watching the dim lights reflect off Emily's upswept hair. "What brings you here?"

"Come with me," it said, glancing over at him.

He nodded and ducked out of the room to follow it into the dark, quiet corridor.

Its footfalls were eerily noiseless on the metal deck plating.

"So," he said, once they were out of earshot of the mess. "I've been expecting you to show up and read me the riot act for a day and a half now. What's taken you so long?"

"This has been difficult for both of you," it replied quietly.

Young raised his eyebrows. "True. And, speaking of that, any chance that you might consider switching over to Dr. Jackson?" he asked.

"This is the form that your subconscious chooses for me."

"If that's true, why are you manifesting as Dr. Jackson to Rush? I'm pretty sure his subconscious is _not_ calling up the SGC's most tactful member of the formerly ascended."

"No," it said quietly. "But—" it paused, oddly hesitant.

"But?" Young prompted.

"There were several occasions on which he had difficulty separating me from Gloria. The real Gloria. This seemed—not ideal."

"_Not ideal_?" Young growled, stopping to grab its arm and spin it around, but meeting only air. "God. That's what he needs right now, isn't it? Something else that's just going to mercilessly fuck with his sanity."

"That's why I stopped, _Everett_." It spit out his name like a curse.

"Okay," he said, holding up his left hand. "Okay. Good. I guess. Now, how about you just stick with Dr. Jackson for both of us."

"Why?"

"Because I don't like talking to you as Emily."

"But _why_?"

"Because it causes me psychological distress to interact with a woman that I loved, but then lost."

It didn't speak for several seconds, its head down.

They resumed walking shoulder to shoulder.

"So it's not her presence that pains you, but the reminder of her absence?"

"Yes," Young said.

"Interesting," it responded. "I had not considered that." It slowed for a moment, and with a flicker in his peripheral vision, its silhouette changed. "Better?" Daniel asked.

"Yes. Thank you."

He followed the AI down into one of the unexplored areas of the ship. Young estimated that they were somewhere beneath the gate room, near the very bottom of Destiny. The hallways were dark and quiet, but not unfriendly in feel.

After walking for a good five minutes in silence down a long, straight stretch of corridor, a door opened for them to their left, spilling a pale golden light into the hall. The AI motioned Young into the room.

Rush was seated at a table, his laptop open in front of him, plugged into one of the instrumentation panels using a homemade adaptor of some kind that had been constructed out of what looked like a USB cable and some of the inner workings of a datapad.

The scientist's hands rested over the keys, but he wasn't typing.

The screen of his laptop was black.

His eyes were open but unfocused.

With a reflexive horror, Young reached out to Rush via their link, but the scientist's mind was far away, half-dispersed in the complex, darkened circuitry of the ship.

"Shit," Young sighed. "What happened?"

Jackson crossed his arms. "It wasn't his fault," it said quietly. "He was tracing power relays and he was tired. It's easier for him without a computer, but he has difficulty grounding himself and he lost his connection with his physical body."

"Yeah," Young murmured. "Of course he did."

"I think you're underestimating how difficult this is for him," Jackson said. "He's been trying to protect you from the strain that Destiny is exerting for two days now."

Young looked up sharply, his brows drawing together. "Why? Why would he do that?"

"You needed time to recover, and not just from the physical injuries. When he pulled Destiny into your mind on the shuttle—he very nearly killed you."

Young shook his head. "That's not possible. I barely felt anything."

"Such injuries don't hurt, Everett."

Young sighed, looking back at Rush, who was still sitting motionless in front of his computer.

"Why don't you just shove him out of your circuitry?" Young asked.

"I can't," the AI said quietly. "Like this—I can't separate him from the space he occupies within Destiny's systems. Only you can do that."

"So, am I okay to pull him out? Physically? Mentally? Whatever?"

"I think so," Jackson said. "But let me give you a word of advice. Take your time. Find a way to do it that doesn't nearly kill the pair of you."

"How am I supposed to do _that_?" Young asked him.

The AI shrugged. "This isn't really my area." With that, it disappeared.

Young looked back at Rush, at his eyes, which were still fixed on empty air.

He crossed the room, his boots scraping faintly over a nearly invisible coating of dust on the floor. He stood opposite Rush, the table between them, and reached out, dragging the laptop from under Rush's fingers.

Friction carried Rush's hands along with the keyboard, extending them slightly along the table until Young lifted the machine away.

Compared to the party he had just left, the room was heartbreakingly quiet.

He set the laptop on the end of the table with a quiet click.

He picked up a chair, positioning it directly across from Rush, and dropped into a seated position. He fingered his sling absently as he looked at Rush.

"Okay genius," Young murmured. "How are we going to do this?"

The table wasn't wide. Young reached forward and swept the scientist's hands together under his left hand.

He sat there for a moment, not doing anything, watching Rush stare, unseeing, in the direction of their entwined hands, his hair brushing the rims of his glasses.

The scientist's hands were cold.

"You're just a mess, aren't you?" Young murmured. "All the goddamned time."

Carefully, he followed his link with the other man down into the scientist's mind, not attempting to pull him out, just—for the moment—being there.

He felt Rush distantly become aware of his presence and the other man tensed abruptly, hands clenching together under Young's, muscles contracting as he began to fight the ship. Young felt him begin to flex his left foot.

Adroitly, Young swept his boot beneath the table, catching Rush's foot behind his ankle and dragging it forward, preventing the scientist's attempt to tear it open.

/No,/ he projected at Rush, sending both the word and the idea of negation as forcefully as he could through Rush's mind.

He got a vague sense of distress in return—disorganized and from very far away.

/You're okay,/ he sent, not entirely sure if Rush could understand what he was saying. /Just relax./ He projected as much reassurance as he could though their link. /We've got some time to work this out./

Rush's hands slowly began to unclench.

Methodically, carefully, Young started to untangle the scientist's mind from the ship. When the pull of Destiny intensified, they simply stopped and waited, until—inevitably, it released its hold, increment by slow increment.

It took twenty minutes to drag Rush back far enough that he was aware of where he was and somewhat connected with his body, but his thoughts remained entirely in Ancient, his eyes still unfocused.

They couldn't seem to quite get all the way there.

Again, Rush tried to flex his foot.

Again, Young prevented it.

Carefully, he turned Rush's right hand over and pressed his thumb into the base of the scientist's palm, massaging away tension, working his way slowly over tight musculature.

Rush blinked.

Young scraped his thumbnail across the delicate skin at Rush's wrist, and the other man's mind snapped back into place, his eyes focusing, the familiar tension returning to his shoulders. He looked at Young with a startled expression.

"Hi," Young said quietly.

"Hello," Rush whispered back.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** After reading this chapter, please proceed to reading the oneshot "The Prepared Mind" before continuing with chapter 19.

* * *

><p>"So," Rush said, his expression held in careful neutrality. "That was new."<p>

"Yup." Young pulled back, releasing Rush's trapped hands.

Rush looked away as he swept a piece of hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear in what was probably the only self-conscious gesture that Young had ever seen him make.

The silence stretched between them.

"What happened to my laptop?" Rush asked finally.

"I moved it."

"Really."

"Do you actually want it back? It must be two in the morning."

Rush looked at him as if he weren't sure why the time was relevant.

"Don't give me that," Young said, but the words had no bite. "You're familiar with the idea of sleeping at night. I know you are. I've seen you do it."

Rush shrugged.

"How long have you been awake?"

Rush looked away. "It's immaterial. Even before all of this," Rush broke off, waving a hand. "I was never much for sleeping."

"Rush."

"Clearly I'm perfectly functional. I don't see why you're so hung up on this."

"Perfectly functional. Sure. Other than going completely unresponsive while you were _alone_ in an unexplored part of the ship, you're fine. Yup, that sounds totally reasonable to me."

"I feel like there's been a recent upswing in your employment of sarcasm. Do you think I'm rubbing off on you?"

"It's not you. It's Eli." Young gave him a pointed look. "How long?"

"As of right now? Sixty-seven hours."

Young stared at him.

Rush raised his eyebrows.

"So you haven't slept since before we boarded the seed ship."

"That's correct. But as I said, I am _fine_. Obviously."

"Keep telling me that. See how far it gets you." Young looked away, then followed up with, "so what's the story? Do you forget to sleep? Do you not get tired? Do you not _want _to?"

"Yes," Rush said unhelpfully.

"You're impossible. You realize you're _sick_, right? You realize you have some kind of alien virus that you're trying to fight off, and working to the point of collapse is _stupid_." Young sighed, getting to his feet. He walked around the table and extended a hand to help Rush to his feet. "Can you finish this tomorrow?"

"I suppose," Rush said.

"Come on then."

Rush took his hand and Young pulled the scientist up. Despite his claims of being fine, the sudden shift in position seemed to take him by surprise and he overbalanced. Young steadied him as he instinctively grabbed the edge of the table to compensate.

"You're such an _idiot_," Young said. "Why do you _do_ this? You're driving me insane."

"Oh give over," Rush snapped, finally losing his temper. "I'm not acting this way for the _hell_ of it. I've been staying awake so that I could prevent the ship from pulling on _your_ mind while you recovered from nearly _dying_, all right?"

Young grimaced, looking away. He reached over to pick up Rush's laptop. "Yeah," he said after a few seconds. "Thanks."

"You're fucking welcome," Rush snapped, clearly still irritated. He maintained his grip on the table edge as he reached down to pick up his crutch. "It's not like it was remotely difficult."

They started down the hallway, the corridor lights subtly rising as they passed and fading out behind them.

As usual, this creeped the hell out of Young.

Rush didn't seem to notice.

It bothered him, this close connection between a person and a starship. At first his sense of unease had been instinctive, rooted deep in his gut and having very little to do with Destiny or Rush specifically. It had been an unconscious response to an unnatural situation.

In the interim, things had become much more personal.

He didn't like the way Destiny responded to Rush. He didn't like the extent to which it was entwining itself with the scientist. He didn't like the casual ease that Rush displayed toward his increasingly demanding connection with the ship, nor the fact that Rush didn't seem to be aware that there was any kind of problem in behavior like staying awake for nearly three days, like repeatedly being forced to continuously tear open an injury just to maintain his grip on reality, like getting purposefully infected with a dangerous alien virus.

As if none of that really bothered him.

As if he didn't resent any of it.

It was a pretty bizarre frame of mind in Young's opinion, especially considering Rush's occasional inability to tolerate even so much as Young's _presence_ in his mind.

Young didn't like it.

But—maybe it was supposed to be this way. Maybe he was _supposed_ to feel like this—to distrust the ship, to distrust the motives of the AI. Maybe that was just a function of the role he was supposed to be playing here.

The problem was, he had a feeling that he wasn't doing a very good job of keeping Rush grounded.

Part of that, he suspected, was that by nature Rush was very difficult to restrain in _any_ arena. The man certainly would have made _the_ worst soldier in the history of the profession. He didn't take orders, had no respect for authority, and seemed to have no conception of his own limits or the limits of others.

All of these things were true, but none of them really helped him, going forward.

His strategy had always been shit when it came to dealing with Rush.

His strategy was _still_ shit.

It was time to revamp, yet again.

Young couldn't _force_ him to do anything because it was ineffective and also had the drawback of making Young feel like shit at the end of the day.

For unknown reasons, Rush also seemed to view Young's attempts to be _nice_ to him with a considerable amount of suspicion.

I was time to try something else.

"So does it look like the Nakai were able to make any modifications to the ship's systems?" Young asked.

"Don't you think I would have told you by now if that were the case?"

"I would _hope_ so." Young said mildly, trying to project amusement rather than irritation at the other man—though he was feeling both. "Don't think that it escapes me that you just neatly sidestepped my question."

"Mmm," Rush said, with a twisted smile. "You're getting better at this."

"Flattery gets you nowhere. Your next sentence better start with 'yes' or 'no'."

"No. They made no modifications, though they did attempt to embed an executable program in Destiny's mainframe which would have allowed them to remotely deactivate the shields."

"You were able to get rid of it, I take it?"

"Of course," Rush shook his hair out of his eyes. "They aren't as computationally sophisticated as one might expect, but that may be a function of their limited experience with Ancient systems."

"From the kino footage we found on the obelisk planet, it sounds like they've been pursuing Destiny for a very long time," Young said, subtly steering their path in the direction of his quarters as they returned to the more populated areas of the ship.

Rush didn't seem to be paying attention to where they were going. His thoughts were elsewhere, a turbulent, unreadable swirl that seemed to center on the Nakai.

"True. My impression of them is that they are persistent and long-lived, but not very adaptable. There's not much common ground between our species, except for, perhaps, our appetite for discovery, which, let's face it, is not terribly surprising to find amongst a space-faring people. To them, we're just these bizarre little creatures that are ephemeral and delicate and easily manipulated and unworthy of that which we—"

With a dim flash of blue, with a quick sense of the icy suffocation that came with drowning in an observation tank, Young felt Rush's flashback coming before Rush himself did.

His reaction was immediate. He yanked the other man's thoughts aside; instinctively forcing the gathering energy of the scientist's mental trajectory into a new path by pulling Rush into a the closest equivalent memory that he possessed.

_He is ten. The wind whips at his winter jacket and tears through the branches of barren trees. The ice breaks beneath his skates with a crack that echoes across the frozen snow and he drops through into the dark and the cold. He gasps involuntarily, drawing water into his lungs even as he fights his way back toward the surface, toward the gray sky—_

"And what the _fuck_ was _that_?" Rush said, snapping them both back into the present.

They had come to a stop in the middle of the corridor and the other man was staring at him in obvious concern. Rush's thoughts were sharp and unusually transparent, his concern for Young's mental stability clear and pressing.

Rush seemed to have no insight into what Young had just done.

The scientist's eyes narrowed as he began pull details and context out of Young's mind like he'd been invited. The touch of his thoughts was subtle and powerful and familiar and precise, but for all his delicate relentlessness, he did not seem to understand Young's flashback for what it had been—a deflection of something much worse.

"Are you all right?" Rush asked.

Young looked at him uncertainly.

Rush's anxiety spiked into something disproportionate. "Answer me."

"Yeah," Young said, much more unsettled at what he had instinctively done than at the content of the memory he'd happened to call up. "I'm fine."

"You're not," Rush snapped at him. "Of course you're not."

Young tried to hang on to the shreds of his memory, using them to cloak the thoughts below.

"You were ten," Rush said slowly, "and skating, with your older brothers."

Should he tell him? Was that the correct, the honorable thing to do?

Rush cocked his head. "Not just skating. They wanted to play hockey," he murmured. "It was Boxing Day."

Telling him was certainly the _ethical_ thing to do. Rush should be told not only that Young had successfully deflected his thoughts, but the other man should be warned that he _could_ do so.

"Your brothers didn't want you along."

Telling Rush was only going to upset him.

"You were trying to catch them up."

It was only going to drive home the fact that the other man was losing control of his own mind.

"And so instead of following them across the field, where the snow was thigh-deep,"

Young didn't want to have that conversation.

"You put on your skates,"

He was sure that Rush didn't want to have that conversation either.

"And you took a shortcut,"

It had just been too hard, lately, for both of them.

"Across the stream that fed into the lake."

He was tired of fighting with Rush.

"You knew the ice was thin,"

He was tired of watching Rush fight _everything_.

"But you went anyway,"

There were so few people left in his life that he could protect.

"And the ice cracked,"

But Rush—Rush was one of them. At least this time. At least right now, in this moment.

"So you fell through."

Rush paused, eyes still narrowed, as if he were certain that there was something he was missing about the story, some hidden meaning in the idea of falling through the ice on a gray winter's day, the sudden shock of it erasing the anger and resentment he'd felt toward his brothers and replacing it with a fight for survival against debilitating cold. But—

There was no mystery there. It was just something that had happened to him, long ago.

"Come on," Young said. "Don't worry about it. I'm just tired, I guess."

They resumed walking.

Rush's gaze flicked over toward him watchfully every few seconds.

"So," Rush said, and his tone had that strange, smooth cadence that he'd used almost exclusively at the Icarus Base, "three older brothers," he paused briefly. "How did that work out for you, then?" His thoughts were a swirl of bright, tormented anxiety.

It occurred abruptly to Young that Rush was trying to keep him talking.

Though the idea that the scientist was operating on a completely mistaken assumption was almost too much for Young to take, given the man's usual hyper-perceptiveness, there was something about the scientist's attitude that encouraged him.

"It definitely toughened me up," Young replied, with a one-shouldered shrug.

"Undoubtedly," Rush replied. "So tell me, are they all as—" Rush made a vague hand gesture, "as you are?"

"Um," Young said. "I'm not really sure what you mean by that. But we're all pretty similar. We all went the armed forces route, except for the oldest, who's in law enforcement."

"Ah," Rush said.

"What about you?" Young asked, genuinely curious. "Any siblings?"

Rush raised his eyebrows. "I certainly wasn't so unlucky as to have three older brothers."

"If you don't want to tell me, just say so."

Rush looked away, the trajectory of his thoughts annihilating in a practiced blaze of pure willpower that had none of the labyrinthine quality of his usual mental barriers.

"Got it," Young said quietly.

Rush said nothing, but there was no mistaking the relieved character of his thoughts.

When they reached his quarters, the door slid open of its own volition at their approach.

Rush didn't seem to notice.

As soon as the door had shut behind them, Young handed Rush his laptop with a sigh, preempting any kind of argument.

Rush took it with his free hand and looked at Young, holding his gaze with an intensity that Young still couldn't fully tolerate.

Slowly, carefully, the scientist moved in on Young's consciousness.

Young let him in.

Rush swept delicately through his thoughts like water through a sieve, leaving no trace that he'd been there other than a feeling of calm in his wake.

"What was that?" Young asked.

"It's the nature of psychic injury to have no insight into itself," Rush said gently, as if that were an answer.

"Do you have to be so cryptic? You sound like the AI."

Rush looked away, his expression pained. "I know I do." He sighed. "I'm trying to repair the damage I did."

Young rubbed his jaw. "What damage?" he asked, trying to sound as non-accusatory as possible.

"When I moved in on your mind in that shuttle, I nearly destroyed your cognitive architecture." Rush looked away, setting his laptop down on nearest surface, flexing his hand to work out the ache in his wrist.

"But you didn't, obviously."

"No," Rush said, "but, even now, you're not entirely undamaged."

"Rush. Seriously. I feel fine. And even if I didn't—you made a tactical decision in a high stress situation. And from where I'm standing, it looks like it was the right one. If you hadn't moved in on my mind, you wouldn't have been able to separate from Destiny, and clearly, we needed you in that situation. So just—stop worrying about it."

"I'm not sure what the long term effects will be."

"There aren't even any short term effects," Young said.

"If something should happen to me—"

"Nothing's going to happen to you."

There was a long pause.

Young studiously avoided looking at the other man.

After a few seconds, he heard the soft click of a laptop opening.

"You should sleep," Rush said quietly.

"I'm not the one who's been up for sixty seven hours."

"Like I said," Rush murmured. "It's not a problem."

Young sighed, turning away from Rush. He made short work of his nighttime routine. When he emerged from the bathroom, he was somewhat surprised to note that Rush was sitting on the floor, with his back against the side of the bed, typing into his laptop.

Young didn't comment at his unusual position, just shrugged his way out of TJ's sling, shucked off his jacket and pants, and stripped down to his cotton undershirt and boxers before climbing into bed.

Rush looked up at the ceiling briefly, and the lights went out.

"Show off," Young said quietly.

"Efficiency," Rush murmured back.

Young stretched out on his back, looking over to consider Rush, who was close enough to touch, his face and hair thrown into relief against the darkness by the weak light coming off his laptop.

Young wanted him to go to sleep.

He wanted the other man to stay human, to fight whatever change was happening to him, whatever was allowing him to avoid rest, to heal minds, to interface with technology, to code with an economic elegance that was unnatural.

Rush had to fight it. He _had_ to.

But he wouldn't.

Maybe he couldn't.

So Young would have to fight it for him.

The scientist was so close that it was barely any effort at all to reach out, placing his left hand at the back of the other man's neck. Rush's eyes flicked over at him, questioningly.

"It's just easier," Young murmured cryptically.

Rush nodded, his gaze going back to the glowing screen.

As unobtrusively as possible, Young pressed his thumb into the sore muscles at the base of the scientist's neck.

The other man made a quiet, distressed sound in the back of his throat, but said nothing. He continued to type.

Young kept going, progressing along Rush's shoulders and down the muscles on either side of his spine, feeling them slowly start to unknot below his fingers.

Rush's typing began to falter.

Young reached beneath the collar of Rush's outer jacket and his cotton undershirt, fingers pressing into slowly warming skin.

Rush angled his head slightly to allow him better access. The man was still typing, but that was fine with Young.

For this to work, progression was going to have to be slow.

He shifted slightly, sliding down closer to Rush and started to methodically, carefully work out specific points of tension in the scientist's shoulders and neck.

It was only when the other man tipped his head forward and his typing became more sporadic that Young started projecting at him.

Young focused on his own exhaustion and subtly directed that toward the other man. It was nothing that was overt—nothing that was meant to overwhelm Rush's defenses. It was just a suggestion. A insinuation of exhaustion, of how reasonable, how _efficient_ it would be to take a few hours off, just a few hours, to recharge.

The room fell silent as Rush stopped typing entirely.

Young stopped digging his fingers into abused muscles and instead ran his thumb in slow, even circles over the back of Rush's neck.

After only a few moments, he felt Destiny's pull on his mind increase as Rush abruptly made the transition from awake to asleep.

Before Young could prevent it, the scientist's head fell forward abruptly, and he jerked awake.

/Easy,/ Young projected at him. /You fell asleep./

/?/

Young reached down to pull Rush's laptop off his lap and then half sat to grab Rush's upper arm with his left hand, dragging him backwards into the bed. Rush got his feet underneath him with some difficulty and helped Young pull him up.

It was fairly uncoordinated on both their parts, but it got the job done.

He pulled Rush in, his left arm coming around the other man's shoulders.

"Haec nova," Rush murmured.

"Yeah," Young whispered. "I hope you're not pissed in the morning,"

Without Rush as a buffer, the press of Destiny on his mind felt raw and heavy. Despite that, he was able to fall asleep almost immediately.

* * *

><p>When he woke up, he was alone. A brief brush of his thoughts told him that Rush was sitting in the workspace that Brody had appropriated for his various projects, viciously critiquing the man's latest attempt at making paper.<p>

There was a note on his nightstand that read:

'Nice trick. Too bad it will only work _once_. N.R.'

He smiled slightly.

Young made short work of dressing and shaving and consequently was able to make it down to the mess hall in time for the end of breakfast. There, he was cornered by Wray who, unsurprisingly, had been up for several hours despite the festivities of the previous night.

"Colonel," she said, approaching the table where he was sitting with Scott and Dunning. "I just gave my weekly report to the IOA. They were hoping to send Colonel Carter and Dr. McKay through today to do an assessment on the feasibility of dialing in to Destiny from the alpha site."

"Today?" he asked

/Did you get that?/ he projected at Rush, mentally flagging down the scientist who was in the midst of a detailing to Brody several points regarding the resources required for any kind of large scale production of medium-quality paper.

"Yes," Wray confirmed.

/I need at least seventy-two hours of warning if I'm going to have to talk to McKay,/ Rush replied with a surge of irritation at being derailed in the midst of a well-constructed diatribe.

/Come on./

/Fine. Let's get this over with./

"Today works," Young said to Wray. "You want to coordinate the details?"

"Sure," she said. "Is fourteen hundred hours convenient for you?"

Young nodded.

* * *

><p>He spent the majority of the day catching up on odds and ends. Shortly before the appointed time, he tracked Rush down and together they headed toward the room housing the communications stones.<p>

Before they entered, Rush stopped him with a hand on his arm.

/Remind me,/ Rush projected. /What do they know exactly? I haven't been paying attention./

/They know that you sat in the chair and they're superficially aware that you're tied to the ship. Only McKay knows that you were genetically modified and, as far as I know, he's kept that secret, though it's possible he might have told Carter. No one on Earth knows that you and I are linked./

/And we're keeping it that way?/

/My vote is yes. Also,/ Young hesitated. /Try to act—/ he broke off, not entirely sure how to complete his thought.

/What?/ Rush snapped, irritated. /Like a normal person?/

/Like you're not certifiably insane?/

/Fuck off./

/Rush. Come on. You know what I'm talking about. Don't verbally respond to something I project at you. Don't talk to the ship. Don't look at the AI if it's hanging around./

Rush shot him a look that managed to convey irritated incredulity. /I don't do those things./

/Yes, you absolutely do. Especially when you're distracted. Or upset./

/Name one time./

/On the seed ship, you talked to the AI out loud in front of Eli and Chloe. You verbally respond to things I project at you at least once a day. At _least_. You stare into space _really_ intently. You—/

/You've made your point./ Rush snapped. /Let's get this over with./

Anything else Young might have said was cut short as the doors slid open in response to Rush's unarticulated thought.

The scientist walked into the room, purposefully leaning a bit less on his crutch than usual. Young was directly behind him. As soon as they passed the doorway they paused, shoulder-to-shoulder to take in Scott and James who had presumably switched with McKay and Carter.

The indolent alertness of Scott's posture suggested that it was highly unlikely that he had _actually_ switched with McKay.

"Identify yourselves please," Young said.

"Samantha Carter," James said, her eyes flicking once to the man beside her as she gave her rank and security code.

"Jack O'Neill," Scott said, tipping his chair back slightly. "Hey Everett, long time no see."

Young saluted, prompting a wave from O'Neill and an eyeroll from Rush.

/I'm in the _military_. It's what we do./

/He has no practical authority here,/ Rush replied.

Young sent him a wave of aggravation. /We're not having this conversation right now./

"At ease," O'Neill said, the words carrying a note of amusement.

/Well, it's a point that I'd imagine is going to become highly relevant, and sooner rather than later./

/Stop talking./

Young nodded at O'Neill.

/If you want me to stop talking then I'd suggest you stop mentally annotating your reactions for my ostensible benefit./

"I was under the impression that this meeting was in regards to an attempt to dial Destiny," Rush said, his voice deceptively mild in what was a perfect example of what Young had come to realize was Rush's most dangerous tone. "And therefore that Dr. McKay would be present."

/Settle down./

/I haven't even done anything. Yet./

"Dr. Rush," O'Neill said pleasantly. "It's good to see you up and around. Don't worry about the dialing stuff—Carter can handle the science side of things," O'Neill said, looking up at them with quiet interest. "Why don't you two take a seat?"

Young deliberately tried not to look at Rush as they moved in tandem to sit opposite O'Neill and Carter.

"I have the feeling," O'Neill said taking in the sling that Young was wearing, "That I'm not quite up to speed on what's happened since you last reported back after the attempt by the SGC to switch Telford and Rush."

"Thanks for that, by the way," Rush snapped. "Remarkably well conceived. I enjoy being the victim of decisions of dubious ethical quality, you know? I really do."

O'Neill's eyes snapped to Rush's face at that last comment and something in his expression hardened briefly. "Well you've certainly begun to make a habit of it," he said blandly.

Rush narrowed his eyes, muscles clenching with tension. Young could feel that the momentum of the scientist's gathering mental energy was about to direct this conversation into extremely dangerous territory.

Rush had just begun to push himself to his feet when Young laid a hand on his forearm.

/Rush./ He projected only the man's name, not any of the thousand reminders or remonstrations that he could have chosen.

Rush froze, his eyes flicking over to Young. Abruptly, the scientist pushed back and Young felt him make a concerted mental effort to calm down.

O'Neill was watching them.

Young gave O'Neill a brief description of the encounter with the seed ship and the subsequent battle with the Nakai. Rush stepped in to fill in the portions of the narrative during which Young had been unconscious.

O'Neill and Carter asked for clarification on a few points before O'Neill switched gears.

"So," O'Neill said, looking at Rush. "Someone needs to explain to us exactly how this 'linked-to-the-ship' thing works."

"It's essentially an instantaneous transfer of information from an incredibly sophisticated but ultimately mechanical system to a biological one. The cognitive _output_ of which is then interpreted as sensory _input_."

"I have no idea what you just said," O'Neill remarked.

Privately, Young suspected that this was untrue.

"_Sensory_ input?" Carter asked sharply, leaning forward, her expression open and interested. "Can you give us an example?"

"I can hear the shield harmonics."

"Neat," Carter said, flashing a smile, trying to draw him out. "Can information be transferred the other way?"

Rush nodded.

"So," Carter said, "you can effect systems changes just by thinking about them?"

"Yes."

O'Neill raised his eyebrows, catching Young's eye.

Young gave him a subtle nod.

"Can you give us an example?" Carter asked Rush.

With a brief mental effort that barely put any strain on Young's mind, Rush dimmed the room lights for a few seconds before restoring them to normal levels.

"That?" Carter said, "_That_ was your example?"

"Well I'm hardly going to drop the ship out of FTL for you," Rush said, shaking his hair back. "What do you _want_?"

"You misunderstand," Carter said. "Dimming the lights in one room on a ship this size is—well, it's extremely impressive. It indicates a very fine level of control and implies a high degree of integration between you and Destiny."

"Correct," Rush replied.

"So," Carter said slowly, "can this work the other way around? Can the ship affect _you_?"

"It hasn't made a habit of doing so," Rush said, his tone dismissive, his head tipped slightly back. His entire demeanor radiated confidence.

As if the ship didn't trap his mind on a regular basis.

As if it hadn't forced him into the chair on two occasions.

As if it hadn't changed him, infected him, completely invaded his cognitive architecture.

/Stop it,/ Rush said, interrupting his train of thought. /They're going to ask you the same question in a few seconds and you'd better have an answer ready./

"Are you sure that you'd be aware of it if it _were_ doing so?" Carter asked delicately.

"From my perspective, your concern is unverifiable," Rush said. "Therefore, I can't address it."

"What about you, colonel?" Carter asked, looking at him.

"There's only one instance that I can think of," Young said.

/Wait, _what_? You're supposed to say _no_./

/They're going to hear about some of this stuff eventually,/ Young shot back, /especially if they dial in and send additional personnel. It's better they hear at least _some_ of it from us./

/Easy for _you_ to say. You're not the one who's going to look fucking insane./

/Everyone already _knows_ you're insane./

"Go ahead," O'Neill prompted him.

"Following Colonel Telford's attempt to switch with Dr. Rush, the ship shut down entirely, as you know. We're still not sure why this happened, but Dr. Rush was also unresponsive during that time. Fortunately Eli was able to restart the ship, and eventually we reestablished full power and Dr. Rush regained consciousness. However, Destiny's AI was not recovered at that time. It remained locked in the central interface of the ship—whether by necessity or design, we aren't sure."

"Okay," O'Neill said, the tone of his voice implying that he didn't see where Young was going with this.

"The ship was able to force Rush to sit in the chair and pull the AI out of the central processor."

"Force?" O'Neill echoed.

"It was more like strong persuasion, really," Rush said, scraping his thumbnail along the surface of the table, looking at his hands.

O'Neill's eyes flicked briefly over to Rush, narrowing slightly. Then he looked back at Young, raising his eyebrows, inviting him to elaborate.

"It didn't happen right away," Young said. "It seemed to be triggered by Rush passing within a certain radius of the chair room. I was with him at the time. As soon as we passed within sight of the interface, he made an attempt to get to it. When I restrained him he lost coherency entirely."

/Can't you tone this down a bit?/

/I _am_ toning it down. You don't even remember this part anyway, do you?/

/Not clearly./

/Well, it was awful./

"We attempted to sedate him," Young continued, "Hoping it would pass, but it didn't. Ultimately we had no choice but to let him sit in the chair or continue to forcibly restrain him."

"That sounds inconvenient," O'Neill said, crossing his arms. "It's just happened the one time?"

Young nodded. "In an extenuating circumstance, brought on by a plan that Homeworld Command put into effect that completely disabled the ship."

"I think I see your point," O'Neill said, dryly. "Carter, do you and Rush want to start going over these plans of yours? Colonel Young and I are going to keep chatting."

The two scientists left the room, the door swishing shut in the middle of the first question that Carter enthusiastically fired at Rush.

Young and O'Neill sized each other up for a moment in the ensuing silence.

"Does it still hurt?" O'Neill asked, eyes flicking to Young's arm.

"Quite a bit," Young admitted.

"Gotta love the poisoned darts," O'Neill said, with good-natured sarcasm.

Young smiled, relaxing his posture slightly even as he kept his guard up. He was familiar with O'Neill's folksy banter and very much aware that it concealed an extremely perceptive interior.

"So," O'Neill said. "It seems like you and Rush are getting along these days."

Young nodded. "We're working on it."

"I'd say you're more than working on it," O'Neill said mildly. "I sat through weekly briefings with the man for something like six months before he transferred to Icarus, and I don't think I've _ever_ seen him put a lid on it like he did back there. And you didn't even _say_ anything to him."

Young wasn't sure that he could give a response to that comment which wouldn't be revealing in one way or another, but did his best to give away as little as possible.

"There aren't that many people on this ship," Young said. "We all know each other very well."

"I'm sure," O'Neill replied.

When Young didn't respond, O'Neill sighed and sat forward, resting his hands on the table. "Look, Everett, we've got to talk. About Rush. About _Telford_, for that matter. We can have this talk on the record or off it. I prefer the latter, since most of what concerns Rush is off the record already. And then maybe you can stop dancing around whatever it is that you're trying not to tell me. So—what's it going to be?"

Shit.

"Off the record it is then," Young said.

"Great. So it may interest you to know that Colonel Telford is currently engaging in what's become a one-sided PR campaign against you. He's met privately with several of the more prominent IOA members, arguing for your replacement. I don't know the specifics of what he's saying behind closed doors, but he's got Senator Armstrong's widow on his side."

"This may sound blunt," Young said, "but why should I care?"

"You should care," O'Neill said, "Because if we successfully dial Destiny, it's very likely that we'll be sending personnel. You can guess who's going to be first on that list."

"There are no grounds for him to replace me. Last time I checked, I still outranked him."

"Correct," O'Neill said, "and if he were trying to make his case by critiquing your track record, he probably wouldn't succeed." O'Neill paused, looking away. "But that's not the case he's making."

Young checked in on Rush, who was in the midst of explaining the power distribution system for the stargate to Carter. His attention was sufficiently engaged that he wasn't paying much heed to Young's current conversation.

"What case _is_ he making?" Young asked.

"He's arguing that you're not taking full advantage of Destiny's potential. That you don't have the scientific personnel or the vision to investigate the nature of Destiny's mission, and any gains in technology or understanding are of very limited scope."

"So send some scientists," Young replied. "Unless Telford has earned a PhD in theoretical physics in the past two years, I don't see how he's going to contribute anything."

"Telford's track record on scientific missions is better than the official version of his resume might indicate. He had another project before he was offered the command that you turned down," O'Neill said. "It was focused on investigating the scientific basis of ascension, and it was closely related to the Icarus project."

They regarded each other in silence for a moment.

"Off the record," Young said quietly, "I've recently become aware of that."

"Rush told you?" O'Neill asked, obviously surprised.

"He did."

"So you understand why Telford has an actionable case for reboarding Destiny."

"How has he not been labeled a _security_ _risk_ and pulled an assignment cleaning floors at the Antarctic base by now?" Young growled. "Explain _that_ to me."

O'Neill sighed. "Give me something I can use," he said. "Give me some evidence of wrongdoing under his own power, and I'll do my best to make it stick. I have no great love for the man. Daniel _despises_ him, which is nearly enough to indict him in my book."

Young hesitated only for a moment.

"Rush has something on him."

"Why does that not surprise me?" O'Neill sighed. "What kind of 'something' are we talking about?"

"Attempted murder."

O'Neill tipped his chair forward. "_What_!?" he snapped. "When I said 'give me something I can use,' I was thinking more along the lines of _tax evasion _or—" O'Neill broke off abruptly.

Young watched him turn something over in his mind.

"When did this happen?" O'Neill asked the question in a way that implied that he already knew the answer.

"It happened," Young said, "on an off-world base belonging to Anubis, while using a piece of equipment meant to change the electrophysiology of his _brain_."

"God damn it," O'Neill repeated quietly, pushing himself to his feet and pacing over to the wall, as if he couldn't bear to be seated. "Daniel _always_ suspected that something truly fucked up had happened on that planet. How the _hell_ did you get him to tell you?"

Again, Young briefly hesistated.

"He didn't tell me," Young said quietly. "I _saw_ it."

"What do you mean you 'saw' it?" O'Neill snapped.

"When I pulled him out of the chair, I was able to see some of his memories. That was one of them," Young said, bending the truth slightly.

O'Neill sighed angrily.

"Unfortunately, that particular incident occurred during the time that Colonel Telford was considered to be 'brainwashed'." O'Neill shot him a meaningful look. "If Rush had just _told_ us about this, we might have at least detected the brainwashing at a point _before_ the Icarus project was hopelessly compromised. It's not like the man had no evidence. We have a Tok'ra device that allows cognitive testimony—what the _hell_ is wrong with him anyway?"

"He's a lot of work."

"That's one way of putting it." O'Neill sighed. "I'm going to lay it out for you, Everett. If Homeworld Command makes a successful dial-in to Destiny I don't think I can prevent Telford from being part of the team that's sent."

Young clenched his jaw, looking away for a moment. "I need to think about this," he said.

"There's nothing to think about," O'Neill said. "If the IOA decides to send a team, you're stuck with Telford."

"Pending the results of _this_ feasibility assessment," Young said, getting to his feet.

"True," O'Neill said dryly.

"If you'll excuse me," Young said, "I have something to attend to."

"You walk a fine line, Everett," O'Neill said, "off the record. But I find that those are the only kinds of lines that lead anywhere interesting."

"Noted," Young said. "Permission to—"

"Go," O'Neill said.

Young went.

/Rush,/ he projected as soon as he was out of the room.

/I'm occupied at the moment, try conversing with _yourself_ for a change./ The scientist shot back. He and Carter were in the gate room, gazes directed up into an open access panel, with Eli looking on in the background.

"—I understand what you mean," Carter was saying. "My god. That's phenomenal. You can clearly see the evolution toward the zero point module technology at play in the system that powers the gate—it's not all the way there, but they mostly had it."

/Rush. Seriously. We have to talk. Get out of there./ Young was heading toward the gate room at a fast walk.

/Fine./

"I agree," Rush replied. "As you can see, the platform isn't entirely crystal based—it's more of a hybrid technology, bridging the older system based on the use of a Naquadah alloy with the more sophisticated crystal-based control interfaces that you see on say, Atlantis."

"Aren't we feeling talkative today?" Eli commented.

"You're lucky you aren't cleaning the sediment out of the CO2 scrubbers," Rush snapped at him.

/Any time now,/ Young said, passing the mess and breaking into a slow jog.

"The gate itself is different as well, isn't it?" Carter asked. "The entire architecture of the dialing hardware is completely unfamiliar to me."

Rush thoughts colored with surprise and something else. Admiration, maybe.

The scientist was enjoying this.

"Very true, colonel," Rush said. "You spotted that remarkably quickly."

/Rush. Stop science-flirting with Carter and get _out_ of there./

/Perhaps Eli _is_ rubbing off on you./

"Well, I've looked at more DHDs in my day than you could shake a stick at. And call me Sam."

"Nick," Rush said, not looking at her.

/Nick?/ Young projected in frank disbelief. /You've met her, what, three times now? And _she_ gets to call you _Nick_?/

/Are you _jealous_?/

/No,/ Young said defensively, coming to a stop just outside the gateroom doors. /Just get out here, will you?/

"I'll be back shortly," Rush said, sliding out from beneath the console. "I'm sure Eli can answer any questions you might have, if you can stand to listen to a three-to-one ratio of meaningless pop-culture references to actual scientific content."

"Meaningless?" Eli called after him. "You should see some of the kino footage I _didn't_ show, you ungrateful—"

The door swished shut behind Rush, cutting off the rest of Eli's sentence.

/_What_?/ Rush snapped at him in exasperation. /I thought we were trying to appear as the paragons of sanity that we are./

"You need to find a reason to stall their attempt to dial in."

"Why?" Rush asked quietly, picking up on the cast of Young's thoughts.

"When they dial in, Telford is coming on board."

Rush's expression was unreadable, his thoughts had dropped into Ancient and were an uninterpretable, fragmented mess. "He's replacing you?" Rush asked. "They have no grounds—"

"No. He'd be continuing the project that he had before Icarus. The one without a name."

Rush's eyes flicked away from Young's. "That project has, essentially, been completed." The scientist seemed to find this amusing, his mouth curving into a half smile. "He's not going to have anything to do."

"_Rush_," Young snapped at him. "You're not taking this seriously."

"Of course I am," Rush replied. "You want a technical problem with their feasibility assessment? Well I've gone one for you. It's called: no-one-gates-onto-Destiny-without-the-express-perm ission-of-Dr.-Nicholas-fucking-Rush. Will that work?"

"Explaining _that_ is going to go over well," Young growled. "We're not exactly in a position to be making enemies of _Homeworld Command_."

"You need to calm down," Rush said.

Young stared at him in astonishment.

"What?" Rush said, looking mildly offended. "I have been known to be reasonable on a semi-regular basis."

Young raised his eyebrows.

"What's your main objection to Telford coming on board?" Rush murmured.

"Do you even have to ask? The man tried to _murder _you."

"It's not as if he didn't have a reason," Rush said, pathologically calm. "He probably won't do it again."

"_Probably_? I don't want him anywhere _near_ you."

"_That's_ your main objection? I would have gone for his dubious loyalties to Stargate Command and long history with the Lucian Alliance, but—"

"Stop trying to pretend that it doesn't matter to you," Young said.

"It doesn't. We need a supply line."

"Not yet we don't," Young said.

"We will soon. It's getting progressively more difficult to drop out of FTL without running into someone who wants to destroy us or board us. Or have you not noticed this? Plus, we're running out of ammunition."

"I don't disagree with you, but let's at least attempt to manage on our own before Telford and an entire team of scientists come on board and start watching you like god damn _vultures_. Find a reason to delay their dial-in attempt," Young said. "For now."

Rush looked at him evenly, his hair falling in an unruly fringe that brushed the frames of his glasses. "Is that an _order_, colonel?"

Young sighed. "No. It's a _suggestion_."

Rush looked at him evenly. "Consider it done."

The scientist turned, leaving Young in the hallway, as the doors to the gate room opened for him of their own accord.


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** Thanks so much for your comments guys!

* * *

><p>Young crossed his arms over his chest, trying to stay warm as he walked down the long, darkened corridor between the bridge and the control interface room. Despite the fact that it was the middle of the day, not many of the crew were out and about.<p>

Maybe it was the cold.

Maybe it was the dark.

Probably it was both.

They were running out of energy.

After almost a month, the power sources that Rush had activated when he'd first linked with the ship had nearly run down. Unused sections of Destiny were sealing off—their lights going out, their heat dissipating. The ambient temperature of the ship had dropped by almost seven degrees. At night it had gotten even colder. The lighting had dimmed everywhere. The deck plating was continuously freezing. Morale was draining away.

They needed to find a star.

That, of course, was a particularly troubling problem because not only did they have to worry about the ever-present threat of the Nakai, who had been relentlessly tracking Destiny for millennia via an unknown mechanism, but they also had the drones to contend with. For a refueling attempt to have even a remote chance of success, they were going to have to deviate from their current course, find a suitable star without a stargate, obelisk, or something else equally noteworthy, and drop out of FTL.

Young gently rubbed his healing right arm, trying to ease away some of the ache brought on by the cold. A week and a half of downtime had restored full function and sensation. He had succeeded in ditching the sling several days ago, to his substantial relief.

He glanced up as the lights in the corridor dimmed by another fraction.

He sighed.

Before this problem with the power, things had _finally_ been going well.

Or, at least, not _badly_.

For one, Rush had successfully derailed Homeworld Command's attempt to dial Destiny with fabricated concerns about overloading the internal power grid. Young was fairly sure that Carter hadn't bought any of it, but O'Neill had prevented her from arguing too strenuously. Furthermore, they hadn't been attacked or had any kind of major crisis since their battle with the Nakai. Some of the crew had started to get cabin fever, and people certainly were tired of eating the processed protein rations, but that was about the extent of the complaining.

For his part, Young had been grateful for the temporary reprieve.

Rush—well, Young was trying not to think about Rush.

For the most part, he was failing, mainly because the scientist required so much goddamn _managing_ it was ridiculous.

To be fair, it wasn't so much that Rush _required_ the managing; it was more that Young's current strategy for dealing with him necessitated continuous fine adjustments. Basically, he had decided to let Rush do more or less whatever the hell he wanted, while subtly suggesting courses of action he thought best.

From a tactical standpoint this had a lot of drawbacks.

From a practical standpoint it wasn't going to work if he and Rush strongly disagreed about something.

There was a third problem—one he found difficult to lay out for himself.

Ever since the disastrous encounter between Young's mind and Destiny and Rush's subsequent repair of the mental damage that had ensued, Young's sense of the other man had become more nuanced, their link more transparent. There was no reason to think that this was a one-way thing. Could Rush see into him—influence him to the same degree? If he could, would Young even _know_?

No. He'd probably have no idea.

These were the kinds of thoughts that he had been trying to avoid.

He had picked his course of action. Its underpinnings were straightforward. Protecting the crew came first and, as long as they were dependent upon Destiny for their survival, along with protection of the crew came protecting the integrity of the ship itself. As a consequence, that meant protecting Rush as well, since it had been unequivocally demonstrated to him that the scientist and the ship were entwined beyond the point of easy separation. And at this most basic of levels, courses of action were clear, and his goals and the goals of Destiny's AI were aligned.

Beyond that, however, Young's goals and the goals of the AI diverged. Following their immediate survival, Young's second priority was getting the crew _home_. The AI's priority was clearly to complete Destiny's original mission. And Rush—well, Rush was likely somewhere in the middle. At some point, Young and the AI were likely to come into direct conflict.

It was inevitable.

He was a bit unclear on what would happen at that juncture. Specifically, he was unclear on what would happen to Rush.

He really didn't like thinking about it.

Young didn't trust the AI. Despite the helpful, touchy-feely, and frankly _likable_ Dr. Jackson-esque approach that the AI had recently adopted, despite the creepily _thoughtful_ behavior the ship seemed to display toward Rush, Young never forgot what Destiny had done to the scientist, even if Rush himself seemed to.

His third priority, then, was to prevent the further integration of Rush and the ship. To prevent whatever change that was taking place in the other man. To prevent the progress of the alien virus. To prevent the erasure of the person who was Dr. Nicholas Rush. To keep the scientist as human as possible for as long as possible. The logical underpinnings for priority number three were difficult to lay out. Making the attempt to do so had left him feeling—

Conflicted.

That was certainly a dangerous state of mind for someone in his position.

His thoughts were interrupted by Eli's sudden appearance in the hallway, his gray sweatshirt zipped up. It looked like he had fashioned a scarf for himself out of part of his bedsheet. He was hugging his laptop to his chest, trying to conserve heat.

"Yeah," Eli said as he approached, gesturing at his scarf. "I know it's not exactly fashion-forward, but what can you do?"

Young raised his eyebrows.

"Nevermind. Look, we've got to talk, yet again, about your better half in there." He looked over his shoulder at the doorway of the control interface room.

Young sighed.

"Wait. What am I saying? Clearly _you_ are the better half."

"The search for candidate stars is not going well, I take it?" Young asked.

"No. It's going fine. It's going awesome. We've got a really good prospect actually, and things are getting fancy in terms of options for how to handle the likely appearance of enemy ships. I think we'll be ready for a tactical briefing in maybe half a day? Or less? I don't know. Check with Captain Insanity."

"Eli," Young said reproachfully. "He's no _captain_."

That surprised a short laugh out of Eli. "Okay, fair point. Look, he thinks I'm completing some astrometrics calculations right now, so let's get out of the hallway. I've got to show you something."

/I knew he was going to go straight to you,/ Rush commented dryly at the back of his mind.

Young sighed. /Why'd you let him leave, then?/

/Well, one can always hope./

"Oh crap," Eli said. "You've got that look on your face."

"What look?" Young asked.

"That look like you're _talking to him_. Did you just give me away?" Eli looked betrayed.

"Um," Young said. He was saved from having to reply by the pneumatic hiss of the door to control interface room. Park, Volker, and Brody filed out.

"He says you might as well come back in?" Volker said uncertainly to Eli, hands tucked under his arms for warmth. "He also said you're taking my night shift?"

"Oh for the love—" Eli said, turning on his heel and headed back into the room. Young followed closely on his heels.

Rush was sitting in his usual pose, feet propped up on an adjacent chair, a laptop open next to one of Destiny's monitors. Unlike everyone else, the cold didn't seem to be bothering him.

"I am _not_ taking another night shift. Do you know how many I've pulled in the past week?"

"Oh spare us," Rush said without looking up. "You get more sleep than a graduate student."

"I think that's impossible," Eli said.

/Is there a _reason_ you're working him up like this?/ Young projected mildly at Rush. /He makes an effort to be nice to _you_, you know./

/I get tired of people talking about me./

/That's all we do, you know. When you're not around—/

"I'm sure," Rush snapped, looking at neither of them, but managing to respond to both of them with one statement.

"Go ahead, Eli," Young said into the ensuing quiet.

"Seeing as the ship drops down to freaking fifty degrees at night—"

"Centigrade," Rush snapped abruptly. "How many times do I have remind you people? Can we _please_ standardize to using the _metric system_? Volker gets confused enough as it is without adding more than one set of units to the picture."

"First of all, you are an _asshole_. Second of all, Volker is _not_ that bad. Third of all, we all know what you're doing so just _stop_." He glared at Rush.

"Fine. By all means. Continue to fascinate us."

"As I was saying, seeing as the ship has been getting down to freaking _fifty degrees_ _Fahrenheit_ at night, and since _someone_ keeps assigning me _night shifts_ out of _spite_—"

"Eli, are you going somewhere with this anytime soon?" Young asked.

"I started to notice that _Rush_," Eli said, talking over Young's interruption and gesturing toward the scientist, "never seems to get _cold_. I mean, look at the guy. He weighs like ninety pounds. It doesn't make any sense. He should have pneumonia by now or something."

"You should _be_ so lucky," Rush said, looking up for the first time. "Perhaps we should have a discussion about professionalism."

"Funny. You're hilarious," Eli snapped.

/I can't believe that those words just came out of your mouth,/ Young commented.

/I lack a sense of humor, not a sense of irony./

"You have thirty seconds to move this conversation into the realm of something relevant before I walk out that door," Young said to Eli.

"Okay, so I did some checking into this because the night shift is _boring_. At first I thought that it was because of the genetic changes. Maybe he's cold-adapted or something? But no, that wasn't it. In fact, Ancients prefer a warmer ambient temperature than humans. _Then_ I had the idea that maybe Destiny was heating up his local environment."

"Yup," Young said shortly. "It's been doing that for a while. It likes him. That's not new."

"Nope," Eli said, raising his hands. "That's not the new thing. Now we have a _whole different level_ of weirdness, and I can't even tell you how long he's been doing it, because it would have been completely impossible to detect at our baseline power levels."

Rush was looking away from both of them, staring at the wall, one hand hooked over his shoulder.

"He's pulling energy from the ship," Eli said, crossing his arms.

No one said anything.

"Um?" Eli said, opening his hands, clearly expecting a bigger response. "He's pulling energy from the ship and using it? Like, to _be a human_ or, you know, whatever it is that he is?"

"Not strictly true," Rush said. "As I _explained._"

"Oh yes. 'Explained'. And to you, explaining apparently means 'Don't worry about it, Eli'."

"Well, _don't_."

"God, you're _so_—"

"Settle down," Young said. He crossed his arms, shooting them both a brief, incisive glance. Despite Eli's surface aggravation, there was an element of unease in his expression. And Rush—Rush hadn't looked at him for the past several minutes. His thoughts were decohesive and largely uninterpretable.

"How much energy are we talking about?" Young asked Eli.

"In the grand scheme of things," Eli replied, "not a lot. But as more and more systems shut down, the amount he's pulling is becoming a larger percent of the total amount available. It's not going to be a tactical issue as far as our plans for the star go, but, you know, it's noticeable."

Young took a seat on the nearest stool and considered Rush, who was _still_ not looking at him. He was fairly certain that if Rush had been actively pulling energy from Destiny he would have been able to detect it.

Young let his eyes flick over to Eli. "He's not pulling it _from_ Destiny." He looked back at Rush, who had glanced up at his words. "Are you?"

"No."

"He's getting subsidized _by _Destiny," Young said, finally able to articulate what he had been noticing since the Nakai attack a week and a half earlier. "That's why he hasn't been sleeping. Why he hasn't _needed_ to. The ship is literally _giving_ him energy."

"Either way," Eli snapped, "it's equally creepy." His eyes locked onto Rush. "Equally bad."

Rush continued to look away.

"Why bad?" Young asked, his eyes narrowing.

"In order for that transfer to work," Eli said angrily, clearly talking more to Rush than to Young now, "you've got to be able to interconvert matter and energy to at least _some_ degree."

"That _is_ the implication," Rush said carefully, eyes fixed on his laptop.

"So?" Eli said, his voice rising as he advanced a few steps toward Rush, finally getting the scientist to look up at him.

Rush opened his hands, as if to ask what Eli wanted from him.

"Can you do it." Eli spit the words out, as angry as Young had ever seen him.

Rush glanced at Young and then away again.

"Do _what_?" Young asked, frustrated.

"Ascend," Eli snapped. "Can you _ascend_?"

No one spoke.

"No," Rush said finally. "Interconversion of matter and energy is a step along the path, not the destination."

Young propped an elbow on the monitor he was leaning against, and dropped his forehead into his left hand, digging his fingers into his aching temples.

"Don't give me that _crap_," Eli said, moving forward to slam Rush's laptop shut. "I know where this is going and _I don't like it_. I watched those stupid _tapes_ that Homeworld Command made, okay? And one thing came through very loud and fucking _clear. Nothing_ having to do with ascension _ever_ ended well for _anyone_ involved. It's not _for_ us, okay? Humans and higher planes of existence do not mix well."

"Eli," Rush said, sounding tired for the first time in days. "I know."

"Shut it off then," Eli said, his voice strained. "Stop doing this stuff. It's bad for you. It has to be. Don't take the energy. Don't talk to the ship. Go back to using computers like a _normal person_. Be cold. Be _tired_. Colonel Young can keep you here if you just let him do his _job_. Why do you have to _be_ like this?"

"Eli."

"_Why_? I already did all of this _without you_, all right? And I didn't like it. We need you _here_. No one tells you that because you're such an _asshole_ all of the freaking time, but we _do_, okay? It's why I locked Ginn away. To get you _back_. You _owe _me. You owe _her_. You owe _all _of us."

"I know that, too," Rush said quietly.

"Yeah, you know. Sure you do." Eli picked up his laptop. "I might as well be talking to the bulkhead for all the good this is doing me. I'll see you at the briefing." He swept out of the room, and neither Rush nor Young stopped him.

Young looked at Rush, rubbing his jaw.

Rush looked away, the skin around his eyes tightening.

/So is he right?/ Young projected at him. /Is the end goal here? Converting you so you can _ascend_?/

/I don't fully understand it yet myself,/ Rush replied.

/Bullshit. You understand enough of it. You always have./ Young shot back. /How long have you been doing this energy conversion thing?/

/Since the Nakai attacked./ Young could feel Rush's control over his temper beginning to unravel. /You think after everything that happened to me, after everything that happened to _you_, I could fucking make it through that attack and the subsequent three days of resisting the ship without some _assistance_?/

/Why didn't you _tell _me?/

/Because I knew you wouldn't like it./

/You're goddamn _right_ I don't like it. Why are you still doing it after _ten days_?/

/It turned out to be exceptionally useful. Besides—I'm not doing it actively, as you pointed out. I'm just—not saying no./

/Well you're going to start. Right now./

/Now isn't a convenient time for me./

/I don't fucking _care_./

/Just because we're mentally linked doesn't mean you get a free pass to interfere in my personal decisions./

/Actually, I'm pretty sure that's _exactly_ what it means./

/Fuck off./

/You cut off that energy stream _right now_ or I'll do it for you./

/Not to disempower you here, _colonel,_ but you're not capable of that./

Young narrowed his eyes, focusing on his connection with Rush. For the first time, he made the effort to map out their link, exploring the space between their minds. While Young still couldn't sense Destiny directly, once he knew what he was looking for, he was able to locate the energy that was flowing from the ship to Rush. He watched it for a moment, a blue-green swirl that fed into and dispersed through the other man's mind. What exactly Rush was using it for and how much he was consciously directing it was difficult for Young to determine.

/I hate to break it to you,/ he shot back acidly, /but I'm absolutely capable of doing just that. This isn't right. It's not supposed to be this way and you _know_ it. You stop it, or I _will_./

/Go ahead,/ Rush replied. /Fucking astound me./

Young moved in on his mind. Instead of dropping a block between himself and Rush, this time he did it between Rush and the energy he was getting from Destiny.

A headache exploded behind Rush's eyes and propagated instantly through their link, along with a sickening, aching cold that radiated unendurably from his bones. As if he were too exhausted to impose any kind of order on his mind, Rush's thoughts decohesed immediately into Ancient, and flashes of memories that weren't his own, that didn't come from any human timeline, were intermingled with the gray rain of Glasgow, with chalk to chalkboards, with hyperdrives and gravel roads and mercilessly beautiful sunlight streaming through the windows of church services with Gloria and neither of them, _neither of them_ feeling any kind of peace—and—

Young pulled out of Rush's mind and grabbed the edge of the table for support.

Only after a few ragged breaths did he realize that the AI had appeared next to him.

"Take it down, Everett," the voice was a hiss, a bizarre combination of his ex-wife and Daniel Jackson, as if it couldn't decide whom to settle on.

"Why?" he shot back at it, his eyes watering through the pain. "This is what he _actually_ feels like. This is how he _should_ feel after practically a week without sleep."

"How are you _doing_ this?" It had settled on Emily, her voice rising angrily. "This doesn't fall within the scope of your abilities."

"The hell it doesn't," Young came right back at it, his voice rising as well, despite the agony in his head. "Destiny's not giving him this energy for _his_ benefit, that's for _damn _sure. So tell me—what do _you_ get out of it?"

"Stop." Rush made an aborted movement in the air, his eyes shut.

"Your role is well defined," it snapped at him. "You keep his mind out of the ship so that he stays alive. That's all. Otherwise you _do not interfere_."

"The _hell I don't_," Young roared, his palm coming down against the metal tabletop. "That energy isn't just keeping him on his feet, is it? It's _changing _him."

"It's facilitating certain modifications, yes, but also allowing him to maintain his current level of functioning. You _want_ him to feel like this? You _want_ him to experience _pain_?"

"Yes, I fucking do," Young said. "He's not a _machine_, he's a _person_ and he's _staying that way_."

"Gloria," Rush said.

Both Young and the AI froze, looking over at him.

"Go," Rush said, shivering slightly, his eyes still shut. "I'll talk to him."

"Nick." The AI sounded pained. It had switched back to Dr. Jackson. It stepped forward, hands out, as if it could touch him.

Maybe it could.

"Do you understand—"

"Yes. Go," Rush murmured, eyes flickering open to look at the AI. "It's all right."

It vanished.

"Rush?" Young asked uncertainly. The scientist had managed to impose a tenuous order on his thoughts.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" Rush asked, digging the heel of one hand into his eye. "You're going to have to take down that block."

"It's not good for you," Young said quietly.

"I know that, but from a practical standpoint it's necessary," Rush said, squinting at him through his headache. "We're supposed to be dropping out of FTL to refuel and we're likely to find ourselves engaging in some kind of firefight before the day is out. Neither of us can afford to be compromised in any way."

"You can make that argument practically every _hour_ on this ship with the rate that we run into trouble. The line has to be drawn somewhere."

"And you've handily demonstrated you can draw it wherever and whenever you'd like. So." Young felt Rush make a concerted mental effort to keep his thoughts and his tone under control. "So I'm asking you not to do this now." Rush took a deep breath. "Please."

Jesus Christ. As if he was going to say no to that.

"Okay," Young said quietly, slowly raising the block he'd placed straight in the midst of the energy-stream. Almost immediately his headache vanished, and the terrible sensation of cold was gone.

Rush shook his hair out of his eyes as he reestablished full control over the tangled mess of his mind.

Young looked at him for a moment, considering several different statements, all variations on an ultimatum that he had already given and that Rush had tacitly accepted. He discarded them all. Instead he reached out a hand to help the scientist to his feet.

"What d'you say we go fly through a goddamned star?" Young gave him a weak smile.

"I thought you'd never ask," Rush replied dryly.

* * *

><p>The briefing was short, as the science team had worked out most of the details of the plan already. Brody presented the main points to the bridge staff in typical laconic fashion. They would be employing three main strategies to minimize contact with alien ships that might either be tracking them, or, in the case of the drones, lying in wait at likely target stars.<p>

The first component of the plan was to minimize time spent outside the star. As neither the Nakai nor the drone ships had the capacity to withstand the heat and pressure involved in flying through a solar body, Rush and Chloe had calculated the minimum distance from the star that they could drop out and still have time to power down the FTL drive and adequately prepare the hull for entry.

Second, they would attempt to evade an ambush at their exit point by changing course while inside the star, an action that was not entirely without risk, because it required overriding some of the safeguards in the navigational computer.

Third, before entering the star, they would send out the shuttle they had appropriated from the seed ship, set on autopilot and broadcasting on Nakai frequencies, programmed with Nakai shield harmonics. That little idea had been Eli's contribution. At worst, it would draw off at least some of the drone ships. At best, if the Nakai showed up and took it on board, a sleeper program that Eli and Rush had designed would cause the engines to overload upon receipt of the appropriate signal.

The briefing only lasted approximately fifteen minutes, after which, Young spent a half hour personally verifying that everything was in place. He made his way to the bridge just before the scheduled drop out of FTL.

Rush was already there, looking over Chloe's shoulder at her monitor.

"Can you just—not _do_ that?" she was saying, as Young entered the bridge. "You're making me nervous. Go harass Eli."

"I think I've harassed Eli enough for today."

Eli gave Rush a dark look which was wasted on the back of the scientist's head.

"Rush," Young said, as he dropped into the central command chair. "Are we good to go?"

The scientist nodded, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling, as if he'd heard something. "We're about to drop out."

"Okay people," Young said. "Look sharp."

The FTL drive powered down and Young felt Rush shut his eyes.

An instant later he wished he had done the same.

Rush was the only person who didn't flinch at the abrupt, intense glow that seared the back of his retinas with a sudden shock of brightness. The star took up nearly the entire forward view. After a brief flash, the painful glare was muted down to a reddish-gold by the automatic tinting of the glass. It colored everything—the monitors, the crew, the metal deck plating—with a surreal bronze cast.

Rush opened his eyes.

/You could have warned me,/ Young snapped, trying to blink away the sun-sized blindspot that now obscured most of his vision.

"Report," he said aloud.

/We dropped out next to a _sun_. Common sense should have been sufficient./

"I'm reading enemy contacts," Eli replied. "It looks like a command ship. They're scrambling to intercept."

"Will they make it?" Young asked.

"Yup," Eli said grimly.

Young pulled out his radio. "This is Young to port shuttle bay. Launch when ready."

/Bring the main weapon online or stick with the shields?/ Young asked Rush.

/We have to break through,/ Rush said. /Go with the weapon./

"Bring the main weapon online," Young called over to Park.

"This is the port shuttle bay," Brody's voice came over the radio. "The shuttle is away. Repeat, the shuttle is away."

The first salvo of enemy fire impacted their shields as the shrieks of proximity detectors and the first of the inevitable power failures combined in an anxious cacophony.

"Shields just dropped ten percent."

Twelve feet away, his features lit up in the copper light that suffused the bridge, Rush blinked rapidly, tightening his grip on the edge of the monitor banks that made up Chloe's station, one hand coming up to press flat against his chest. His mouth had gone dry. His muscles were shaking.

Permeating both his mind and Young's was the overwhelming desire, the _need_ to sit in the chair.

Shit.

Young was so goddamned _tired_ of this.

Rush peeled himself away from Chloe's station and began walking toward the exit.

Behind him, Young heard the pneumatic hiss of the bridge doors.

Young pulled out his radio. "Greer, report to the chair room immediately."

He waited, keeping his posture relaxed, his mind quiet. When Rush was within arm's reach, Young shot to his feet, grabbed a handful of the scientist's jacket, and spun the other man around, unbalancing him enough to force him into the command chair. At the same time, he tightened his hold on Rush's mind as much as possible.

"Nope," he said softly, "I'm pretty sure you don't want to do that." He pressed down against the scientist's shoulder, preventing him from easily rising.

Rush didn't reply. He sat motionless, his mind perfectly balanced between the opposing intentions of Young and Destiny. The scientist himself had not yet decided on a course of action.

A second salvo of enemy fire impacted their shields.

"Fire the main weapon," Young snapped at Park. "Clear our path."

She fired two shots straight along their planned trajectory, and Destiny followed closely in their wake. Again, Rush tried to get to his feet, the pull of the chair becoming almost unbearable.

Young held him down with a constant pressure on his shoulders and his mind.

"Our shields just dropped by twenty-five percent," Eli said, doing a double-take as he looked over toward Young.

"_Twenty-five percent_?" Young repeated.

"The weapon takes a lot of energy," Eli snapped back, his eyes lingering on Rush.

A sudden blast rocked the bridge as the first of the enemy fire truly penetrated their shielding. Young recognized the trill of the alarm that indicated a hull breach immediately before Volker confirmed it.

"Reroute power to forward shields," Young snapped.

For no reason that Young could discern, Rush abruptly threw in with Destiny and surged to his feet overwhelming Young's stabilizing influence.

Young was dragged forward for half a step before Rush deftly turned, escaping his hold by sliding out of his open jacket. He was across the bridge before Young had fully grasped what had happened.

No one had noticed their brief, silent confrontation.

Another blast nearly knocked Young off his feet, and he dropped Rush's jacket to pull out his radio. "Young to Greer," he said quietly, trying to keep his voice from carrying. "Rush is headed toward the chair room. You're authorized to use any means short of lethal force to keep him from sitting in that thing."

"Understood," Greer replied grimly.

"How much longer until we reach the star?" Young asked Chloe.

"Three minutes," she called back.

At the back of his mind, he could feel Rush increase his speed from a pained, limping walk to a brisk clip, to a jog until he was flat-out _sprinting_—feeling no pain, cold air raking though his hair, corridor lights flaring subtly for him as he passed through near darkness.

God, he was fast.

But of course he would be, with that build, that drive. Of course.

"What's our status?" Young snapped, the golden light on the bridge contrasting with the dim blue of Destiny's interior that Rush was tearing through.

Though Young tried to stay focused on the bridge, he knew that the scientist had nearly reached the chair room. The part of him that could feel the pull of the chair, the anxious press of Destiny, _ached_ for Rush to make it.

"Shields are down to thirty percent ship-wide with focal weakening," Eli replied, his eyes flying over his monitors. "They're going to keep getting through."

Rush snapped back into Young's consciousness with a bolt of surprise. The other man hadn't seen Greer coming until the sergeant had tackled him. They hit the deck plating hard. Greer had the scientist half-pinned before Rush fully realized what had happened. Rush made an effort to marginally pull away from Destiny, to sharpen his connection to reality. He was less then two seconds from being totally immobilized when he pulled Greer's sidearm.

"They just changed their strategy," Volker yelled, his hair a flaming red-gold in the light from the star that now took up the entire forward view.

"In what way?" Young growled, trying to ignore Rush in the back of his mind.

"They've started kamikaze-style runs," Volker replied, struggling to be heard over the alarms cutting through the air.

"Back off," Rush said icily, forcing his way into Young's consciousness, still pinned to the freezing deck plating in the thin cotton of his undershirt as he pointed the handgun directly at Greer. He cocked the weapon _inches_ from the sergeant's face.

"You're not going to shoot me, Doc," Greer said softly. He hadn't moved. The darkness pressed in around them.

"What kind of numbers are we talking about?" Young asked, struggling to stay present on the red-gold light of the bridge.

"I will," Rush said, his hand and voice steady despite the unendurable pull of the ship. "I'm more than prepared to sacrifice you for the persistence of this ship and crew. I don't have time to explain this to you, so decide right now if you're going to blindly follow Colonel Young's orders or if you're going to trust me on this one."

"We just had two impacts off the forward port bow," Volker said. "They're coming in waves of six."

In the dim blue light, Greer looked at Rush evenly and then pulled back, extending a hand to help the scientist to his feet.

"Damn it," Young hissed under his breath.

"We can't tolerate any more hull breaches," Eli snapped, the reddish light glinting off his hair. "Our shielding is so low that we won't be able to survive the passage through the star."

"Do we have enough energy to jump back into FTL?" Young asked.

"No." Eli said, and even though it was quiet, it cut across the bridge.

Deep in his mind, the chair glowed bright in the darkness.

"Stay on course," Young said firmly, and the activity of the bridge resumed. "How long?" Young asked Chloe.

"Twenty seconds."

Another drone made it through a weak point in their shields and impacted the hull near the bridge. Chloe was flung out of her seat, and Young had to grab the arm of the command chair to prevent ending up on the floor himself.

"Ten," Chloe called out as she pulled herself up.

"We have another breech," Eli said, his face pale.

There was nothing more Young could do.

Greer and Rush were at the chair room. Rush had already started to join with the ship and Young got only intermittent flashes of his approach to the chair, like a slow strobe.

The doorway.

Greer's flashlight.

The platform.

His hand on the armrest.

The sound of charging capacitors.

Then—nothing.

"Five seconds," Chloe whispered, turning back to look at Eli.

Eli shook his head.

Chloe turned back to face the sun. "Matt," she whispered into her radio, her voice pained.

They plunged into the solar corona.

"Internal temperatures are increasing," Eli said, his voice calm. "Shear forces have further damaged the hull."

"Come on, Rush," Young said under his breath.

Vortices of plasma streamed past the forward view.

"Eli," Volker said, "can you confirm this for me? I'm reading that all incoming solar energy is being routed directly to shields. Are you—"

"That's not me," Eli said, ducking around Volker's station to look at his display.

"Are we okay?" Chloe asked into the ensuing silence. "Internal temperatures seem to be holding."

"Um, don't quote me on this, but yeah, I think we're going to be okay," Eli said quietly.

Something in the room seemed to release at his words, and the bridge personnel lost their artificial stillness.

"There must be a protocol for—" Eli broke off, eyes flicking up to where Young was sitting, then raking the entire bridge, coming to rest finally on the floor near Young's feet, where Rush's jacket was lying. He looked away. "Yeah. There must be a protocol."

"Lay in the new course," Young said.

"Five hours until we emerge," Chloe said. "That ought to be more than enough time to fully recharge as long as Eli and I can stay ahead of any areas of turbulence."

"Great," Young said, trying to sound even remotely enthusiastic. "I'm going to find Brody and take a look at some of these hull breaches, see if there's anything we can do about them right now. Eli, you let me know if you need me back here."

"Sure," Eli replied.

Young waited until after he'd left the bridge to pull out his radio. "Young to Greer," he said quietly.

"Go ahead, sir," Greer replied, his voice perfectly controlled, professional.

"Stay with him."

There was a short pause.

"Understood."

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, Young was helping Scott and James reroute critical wiring away from one of the damaged areas of Destiny's hull under Brody's direction. The four of them were spread out along the corridors halfway up the starboard side of the ship.<p>

For the first time in a long time, Young was truly alone.

Already he could feel the internal temperature of the ship beginning to return to normal levels. The deck plating was no longer icy to the touch. After so many days of darkness and cold, it was a welcome change.

He tried to focus on the task at hand and not on the oppressive sense of inadequacy that he felt.

He should have let Rush go.

They almost hadn't made it.

"You're making a terrible mess of that," a familiar voice said from over his shoulder.

Young jumped, dropping the pair of pliers he'd been using to strip the wiring.

"No," he snapped, turning around to face the AI. "Just—_no_. You don't get to take on _his_ appearance because that is _way_ the _hell_ to confusing for _everyone_."

Rush raised his eyebrows, looking slightly startled at Young's vehement response.

The scientist appeared remarkably well put together. His hair was shorter, his clothing professorial and _new_-looking, from his pristine, square-framed glasses down to the leather of his shoes. He smirked at Young as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

"You think I'm the AI."

"Aren't you?"

"You have no way of verifying that, so does it really matter what I say?"

Rush lit the cigarette.

Young stared at him.

"I'm projecting," Rush said, looking pleased with himself. "It's, to some degree, akin to the interface I made on the shuttle, but instead of pulling you in, which was, as we've established, a terrible idea, I'm sending myself out. Terribly sorry I can't offer you a cigarette. They're not real, in the classical sense of the word."

"I don't smoke," Young said, eyes narrowing.

"Good for you. It's a terrible habit." Rush flashed him a smile that was quick, even, and overtly charming.

"Are you here for a reason, or just to harass me?"

"The Nakai just dropped out," Rush said. "Thought you might like to know."

"Shit," Young said.

"It's fine," Rush said, leaning back against the wall next to the open panel where Young was working and taking a long draw of his cigarette. "They're tracking the shuttle at the moment. I infer from past experience and from studying their behavior that they can, to some degree, also track Destiny's course through the star, though it's likely they won't be able to determine our position accurately enough to create an effective ambush at the point we emerge."

"I'm sorry I tried to stop you," Young murmured.

"It's all right," Rush said, his voice unusually gentle. "Don't blame yourself for what didn't happen."

"You seem different," Young said quietly, "when you're like this."

"Better," Rush replied.

"I don't know about _that_," Young murmured skeptically, "but less—pained, certainly."

"Less of a pain in the ass, you mean." Rush clarified, wistfully. "This is better."

"Why?" Young demanded. "What's so great about being with this hunk of metal? You're a _person_. You belong with _people_."

"There's a part of me that does," Rush said. "But that part is—fading."

"Why won't you fight this?" Young asked him. "I don't understand. You're part of this crew. Part of this _family_. We need you. Don't you give a _damn_ about that?"

"Of course I do."

"Well then _fight_ the goddamn _ship_, Rush. Help me get the crew _off_ Destiny. C_ome back_ with us."

"That's not an option for me, Everett."

"Yes, it fucking well is."

"Why, because _you_ say so?" There was no bitterness in Rush's tone, just a rueful amusement as his eyes flicked up to meet Young's.

Young looked away. "So—are you not going to remember this?" he asked after a few moments.

"I doubt very much that I will."

"Well then fucking know this, you son of a bitch," he snarled. "I am going to do everything in my power to get you _off_ this goddamn ship. I am going to do everything I can to stop the slow destruction of Nicholas Rush, your fatalistic, new-age, cigarette-smoking, _bullshit_ be damned."

"I—" Rush began, sounding strained. Before he could finish, James came around the corner and he vanished.

"I mean it," Young hissed under his breath into the empty air.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** This one was hard to write. Not so much in the sense of seeing it in my mind, but in the sense that every line seemed to take its own sweet time to come out of my brain and settle down.

* * *

><p>Young was lying on his back, half inside a bulkhead, wielding a portable welder that Brody had liberated from the machine shop. The flame heated up the enclosed space and carved out a small blind spot in his visual field as sparks rained down harmlessly around him, impacting the deck plating and fading away to nothing as he worked.<p>

"Colonel Young, this is Eli." His radio crackled.

He flipped off the welder and wiped a thin sheen of sweat off his forehead before replying.

"Go ahead."

"We'll be emerging from the star in about ten minutes."

"How's our power level?"

"We're at one hundred percent, backups fully charged. Hopefully we don't have to use it all up in a firefight to get _out_ of here."

"Agreed," Young muttered to himself. "I'll be right there," he said into the radio. He scanned the hallway, looking for someone to hand his repair job off to.

Brody came around the corner, looking harassed, a smudge of grease making a short black strip on his temple.

"I heard," Brody said, indicating Young's radio with his eyes as he jogged the last few steps to take the welder. "I got it."

Young clapped him on the shoulder and turned to make his way back to the bridge.

When he arrived, Wray was in the command chair. At his approach, she hurriedly got to her feet.

"You can sit, you know," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"That's okay," she said. "It's not really my style."

Young gave her a one-shouldered shrug and sat down. "How long?" he asked the room at large.

"Six minutes until we emerge," Chloe replied promptly.

"There's a rumor," Wray said quietly from where she was standing beside him, "that Rush is in the neural interface right now. Is that true?"

"Yup," Young said shortly. "He's been there for the past five hours."

"_Five hours_?" Wray echoed, her voice rising slightly. "That seems like an awfully long time."

"We may need him when we come out of the star," Young snapped. "There's going to be a window while the drive powers up where we'll be vulnerable to attack before we jump."

A brief silence settled between them.

Wray crossed her arms. "It wasn't my intent to sound—accusatory," she murmured.

He shrugged uncomfortably. "I didn't mean to sound defensive."

"I'm sure you're doing your best. I'm sure you both are. It's just—difficult to get used to."

"Tell me about it."

She smiled briefly in return and looked out at the plasma vortices, the glow from the sun putting a golden cast on her dark hair.

"Did you ever find out what happened between him and Colonel Telford?"

"I did," Young said. He made an effort to keep his expression neutral.

Wray was watching him carefully. She was silent for the span of several seconds, giving him space to elaborate.

He said nothing.

"That bad?" she asked.

"Yup."

She shut her eyes briefly. "Any chance that you might consider telling me the specifics of what happened? I heard at the last IOA meeting that Telford's on the short list of people they're going to send if they're able to dial in. I might be able to get him _off_ that list."

"I'll think about it," he murmured.

"You need someone to talk to," she said quietly.

"I have plenty of people to talk to," he replied.

"You know that's not what I mean."

"I can talk to TJ."

"No, you can't. Not really." She looked at him with a gentle lift of her eyebrows.

He didn't reply.

"Well, you know where to find me. I'm an HR person, and that comes with _some_ relevant skill sets. At least that's what I tell myself."

"Three minutes," Chloe called back.

"I'll keep that in mind," Young said quietly to Wray. "Thanks."

The intensity of the light coming through the forward view had become less uniform. Swirls of plasma snaked about the hull as they hurtled through the outer portion of the solar corona.

"Do we have sensors back yet?" Young called over to Eli.

"They should be coming online any second—yup. We've got them. Okay, crap—I'm picking up two—nope, actually make that _three_ Nakai ships about six hundred kilometers to port and kind of, under us? I don't know. Chloe I'm sending you the raw info if you want to project probability vs. location, the data's not gonna sharpen up until we get out of the corona. And, yeah, we also have drones, but they're where we would have exited had we kept our original trajectory so humans one, cylons zero."

Chloe projected a three dimensional map representing the star, Destiny's position, and the approximate position of the Nakai vessels into glowing relief over their heads.

"We've also got a debris radius," Chloe said, "and I'm not picking up the signal from the shuttle. They must have triggered it."

"Did we take out one of their ships?" Young asked.

"We did," Chloe confirmed.

"The Nakai are moving to intercept," Volker warned.

"What's the status of our FTL drive?" Young called over to Park.

"We can't power it up until we're out of the coronasphere," Park replied. "Two minutes."

"I don't think they can catch us in two minutes," Eli said.

"You don't _think _so?" Young asked.

"The ships themselves definitely can't, but if they launch fighters—"

"And," Volker interjected, drawing out the word, "that's what they just did. We've got incoming. Twenty, maybe thirty ships just showed up on short-range."

"What's the power expenditure for firing versus relying on shields?" Young asked the room at large.

"Shields are better," Eli said, his voice rising warningly.

"Shields," Chloe said.

"Yeah," Park agreed. "Engaging the primary array is going to cost us a significant chunk of power. Up to five percent of our current total, for an average firing time of twenty seconds."

"If we want to try and cut down their numbers somewhat, this seems like a good time to do it," Wray pointed out. "They've got to be almost as far from home as we are if they've been following this ship for what, a million years?"

"Maybe," Young said quietly. "But we're not in the best shape ourselves at the moment. We have two hull breaches."

"Fair enough," Wray said wryly.

"Let's get out of here as fast as possible," Young called out, looking over at Park. "Are we at maximum sublight?"

"I'm pushing it as much as I can," she replied.

"One minute until we clear the corona," Chloe called back.

The plasma swirls were fading now, and they could see the darkness of space starting to creep back into the forward view.

"Thirty seconds," Chloe said.

"The leading edge is within firing range," Volker called out at the same time.

The shields flared brilliantly as the bombardment commenced, explosions blue and green and gold nearly obscuring the port side of the ship as Young looked out the forward view.

"It's beautiful, in a way," Wray said quietly, from where she stood beside the command chair.

Young glanced at her. When he looked back toward the forward view, he saw a familiar outline, dark against the flaring light, standing in the spot that Rush had come to prefer, immediately adjacent to Chloe's station. One arm was wrapped about his chest, his shoulders hunched, head forward, fingers pressed against his mouth as he watched the assault on the shields. Young couldn't make out his expression.

In the next instant, he was gone.

"In a way," Young echoed, rubbing his jaw.

"FTL is spooling up," Park said, and after a few seconds, Young could feel a subtle vibration in the deck plating beneath his feet.

The transition to FTL was particularly spectacular as the soft smear of stars faded in over the colored flowering of energy wherever weapons fire impacted the shields. As the forward view took on the familiar swirling homogeneity, everyone on the bridge breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"Good work people," Young said. He looked over at Wray. "You want to hold down the fort? I've got some things to take care of," he said quietly.

"I imagine you do." She knelt and picked up Rush's jacket from where it had fallen to the floor.

She folded it over once, her hands neatly smoothing away creases in the material.

Wordlessly she offered it to him.

"Thanks," Young said.

"You're welcome. Now get out of here."

Young walked down the long hallways, noting the restored lighting and the normalized temperature with relief. Before heading to the chair room, he stopped to have a brief discussion with Brody, making sure there were no looming catastrophes. Primarily he checked in with the other man on principle, but he also wanted to get a sense of whether or not the science team was going to need Rush in the next several hours.

The answer to that question seemed to be no.

In Young's opinion, that made this a perfectly acceptable time to cut Rush off from the energy he was getting from Destiny. He was fairly certain that once he did so, the scientist was going to be close to useless until he had gotten some sleep and readjusted his baseline.

Hopefully the AI wouldn't interfere.

He wished that he had the ability to block the _mental_ connection between the scientist and the ship—to stop the unnatural responsiveness of the ship to Rush's every action.

Maybe he would gain that ability with time.

Maybe.

It didn't take him long to reach the chair room.

Young entered the room, still dimly lit despite the restored power levels. He took in the scientist, locked into the neural interface, blue lights emanating from the bolts at his temples and coming from various monitors set up around the room.

Greer was seated near the door and stood as Young came in.

"What happened to your jacket?" Young asked, noting the sergeant had on a beige T-shirt that, despite the somewhat increased temperature on the ship, was still not quite sufficient.

"It's on loan," Greer said, looking over at Rush.

Young looked again and saw the jacket in question wrapped sloppily over Rush's shoulders, as if Greer had done it _after_ the man had entered the neural interface.

"Not sure how helpful it really was," Greer said, as if he could see Young's thoughts, "but it was fucking cold when we got here, you know?"

Young clapped him on the shoulder, but didn't say anything. He walked over to the side of the chair, placed his hand down on the obsidian interface, and began to pull Rush's mind out of the ship.

There was more resistance than usual, as if Destiny was aware of his new resolve.

Maybe it was.

He paused for a moment in his attempt, taking his time, tracing the connections between himself and Rush, then the connections between Rush and Destiny.

The three of them were tangling together in what had become more of a web than a link.

He picked out what he was looking for with relative rapidity; the neural interface seemed to be acting to increase his sensitivity. The energy transfer between Rush and the ship flowed like a slow, continuous stream that came from Destiny and fanned out, incorporated into nearly every aspect of Rush—his body, his mind, his link with Young. Though he couldn't see it directly, it was also facilitating the propagation of the virus. The AI had practically admitted as much.

He hadn't necessarily planned to cut Rush off before talking to him about it, but now seemed as good an opportunity as any. So, for the second time that day, he blocked the stream of energy, cutting off the connection by creating a barrier that Rush could not remove on his own.

He again attempted to pull Rush out of Destiny.

This time, it was easy.

The room faded back in around him as he heard the familiar crack of the neural interface bolts disconnecting and the restraints opening of their own accord.

With the sensation of abrupt, rapid escalation, Rush's mind slammed into Young's with a force that he hadn't experienced since the first time he had pulled the scientist out of the chair. Whether it was the sheer number of hours that Rush had spent in the neural interface or something else entirely, Young couldn't say. He staggered slightly under the pressure of it, under the onslaught of alien images and language, fighting the disorientation that came with trying to navigate Rush's barely controlled consciousness. His vision wavered as an excruciating headache settled behind his eyes. His fingers closed around the edge of the chair as he fought down a wave of nausea.

He had to block.

He _had _to.

At least partially.

He pulled back marginally from Rush, just to the point at which the headache receded to a manageable level and reached forward, closing one hand around the man's shoulder, which seemed to reduce the pain to some degree. Whether the headache was coming from him, Rush, or a combination of the two, he couldn't entirely tell.

He looked down, focusing with an effort on the scientist, who hadn't moved at all.

/Hey,/ Young projected at him gently. /Are you all right?/

"Yes," Rush murmured, suddenly sitting forward, as if Young's projection had been the catalyst he'd needed. His hands came to his temples as he looked up at Young, like he could use the pressure from his fingers to help order his mind.

"Okay," Young said quietly. "Let's get you out of here, what do you say?"

Rush nodded and Young grabbed both his arms just above the elbows, pulling him into a standing position. The scientist swayed, nearly overbalancing the pair of them before Young was able to find his center of gravity and stabilize them both. Young dragged the other man's left arm over his shoulder and pulled him away from the neural interface. They were hallway across the room before Rush spoke.

"Did you do something?" Rush asked him vaguely. "I don't feel right."

"No?" Young asked mildly.

"No," Rush repeated, sounding vaguely hurt. "Are you _blocking_ me?"

"Don't worry about it, genius. You're exhausted," Young said, evading Rush's question. "It's time to do things that normal people do. Like eat dinner and go to bed early."

Rush watched Greer's jacket slide away from its precarious position around his shoulders to the floor like he wasn't entirely sure what it was. "Exhausted?" he repeated slowly, "Are you sure?" he looked at Young. "I don't think that happens to me."

"_Everyone_ gets tired, Doc," Greer said, as he came forward, holding Rush's black military issue jacket. "Even you." He tugged it up over Rush's free arm and shoulder before getting a firm grip on the scientist as Young finished pulling it on. Greer knelt to pick up his own jacket from the floor.

"Let's get out of here," Young said.

Since Rush still seemed more than slightly unsteady, he pulled the scientist's arm back over his shoulders as they stepped into the hall. The door to the chair room slid shut behind them of its own accord and they blinked in the bright hallway light until it dimmed down for Rush automatically.

"What's happening?" the scientist asked them.

It wasn't an unreasonable question, but something in the _way_ Rush asked it triggered a sense of unease in Young. "What's the last thing you remember?" he asked cautiously.

"The last? Temporal sequencing is hard for me, you know that."

Young frowned.

"Give it a shot Doc," Greer said, meeting Young's eyes worriedly. "Last thing you remember."

"Those unaffected by the virus sealed themselves in the heart of Atlantis and left," Rush murmured. "There was no consensus reached regarding the correct course of action and so," he paused wistfully, "we let them go."

"_What_?" Greer said.

"Yeah, okay. Good try, but I'm thinking maybe we'll go to the infirmary instead of to the mess," Young said, realizing that Rush was not entirely coherent and probably had not been since he had pulled him out of the chair.

He should have expected this.

He should have fucking realized _right away_ that sitting in the chair for five hours was only going to make matters worse when he finally did cut Rush off from the energy source that he'd been relying on for _days_ now.

"That wasn't correct?" the scientist asked. "If it doesn't involve Nicholas Rush directly, then it should be algorithmically excluded?"

He looked at Young as if he were expecting an answer.

"Sure," Young said, keeping his delivery light. "I think that's probably a safe assumption. But you know what? Don't worry about it right now." He kept a lid on his rising anxiety as he pushed Rush against the wall of the corridor.

"Why don't we sit down for a minute?" he asked.

Rush just looked at him.

"Come on," Young said, pressing down gently on the scientist's shoulders, hoping he would get the idea. "We're sitting down right now."

"Why?" Rush asked him.

"We just _are_," Young said, stepping in and hooking a leg around behind Rush, knocking his knees out from beneath him and carefully controlling his slide down the wall.

"Go get TJ," Young murmured to Greer. The sergeant took off down the hallway.

"Rush," he said urgently, pushing the scientist's hair back, trying to get the other man to look at him directly, trying to get a sense of Rush's disorganized thoughts while keeping some distance between himself and the debilitating headache that was affecting the other man. The scientist's skin was unnaturally warm beneath his hands. "What's happening?"

"That's what_ I_ asked. I thought _you_ were going to tell _me_."

"Shit," Young said. "I think _I_ did this."

"I concur," Rush said unhelpfully. "Everything was fine before you."

"Come on," Young said quietly. "You've got to sharpen up here, genius. I need answers from you. Do you know your name?"

"Nick," Rush replied, after a few seconds.

"Okay, good. Do you know where you are?" Young was giving Rush what mental energy he could, helping him to sharpen his thoughts.

He _really_ did _not_ want to reconnect Rush to the energy coming from Destiny unless he had no choice.

"Destiny."

"Great. What year is it?"

"What calendar are you using?"

"The normal one. The Earth one."

"The first or second decade of the second millennium. Common era."

"Um, okay. Not your best work, but I'll take it. Do you know who I am?"

"Colonel Young."

"Good," Young said quietly. "Why were you in the chair?"

"Destiny was afraid."

"Sure. Close enough. You were getting energy from Destiny," Young prompted him. "Remember? It was driving the replication of the virus."

"Yes, amongst other things."

"Yeah. I'm getting that. _What_ other things? What, _specifically_, were you using that energy for?" Young asked him.

"I think something is wrong with me."

"Yeah, I _told_ you. You're really _fucking_ tired." Young said, trying to keep his frustration under control. He ran a hand through Rush's bangs, noting that a thin sheen of sweat had already started to dampen his hair. "Plus, you seem to be running a fever. You're not thinking clearly."

Rush's gaze had drifted to the left, and he seemed to be looking at the empty air. Young wondered if the AI was talking to him. And if so, what it was saying. He wrapped his right hand around the back of Rush's neck and subtly angled the scientist's face towards him, trying to regain his attention.

"Nick," he snapped, and Rush's eyes flicked back to him. "Let's focus up. Come on."

"Improving our radius," Rush said.

"What?"

"I was using it for that. The energy. To improve our radius."

"Okay, good. What else?"

"Not sleeping."

"Right." Young rolled his eyes. "What else?"

"Fixing things."

"What kind of things?"

"Things that are broken."

"Thanks. That's so helpful."

"You're welcome." Rush was clearly barely paying attention to Young. His focus was again out in the empty air over Young's left shoulder.

"That was _sarcasm_, Rush. What were you _fixing_?

"It was more like—building over a cognitive scaffold, if you know what I mean," Rush said, gesturing earnestly, his hands forming a lattice-like structure.

"Um, no, actually, I have no idea what you mean."

"Yes well. Obviously you wouldn't, would you? Scaffolding isn't meant to be _permanent_. That's its _nature_." Rush's tone had turned condescending. "But you can't build _something_ from _nothing_, can you?"

"No?" Young had no idea what he was talking about.

"Exactly."

"Anything else you were using the energy for?" Young asked, deciding to move on.

"Not eating."

"Not—_shit_. _Why_? Do I have to watch you _all_ the god damned _time_?"

"You would do the same thing if you could. Those rations are intolerable."

"Okay, fair point, or, rather it _would_ be a fair point if they weren't the only things standing between us and _starvation_. You're _such_ an idiot."

"Well, you know what they say about people who live in glass houses," Rush murmured, narrowing his eyes at Young, regaining some of his clarity of thought in the face of being insulted.

"All right," Young said quietly. "You've got to help me out here. I'm not going to lie to you—you're a fucking mess right now. More of a mess than I was really expecting. So which is better for you, to get energy from Destiny or not?"

"It depends on what your primary endpoint is," Rush replied, his tone retaining only a fraction of the focus he'd just regained. "As always, there's a tradeoff between time and quality of life."

"So if you take energy from the ship, you feel fine until—"

"Yes. Until."

"And the alternative is that you feel like shit, but you live longer."

"Option one is preferable," Rush murmured, "except—"

"Except what?" Young asked. His fingers were now wrapped firmly around the back of Rush's neck, his thumb tracing small circles behind the scientist's ear, keeping him as present as possible. "Except _what_?" he repeated, when Rush didn't answer right away.

"Except that I damaged your mind," Rush said quietly, reaching out to touch Young's temple, then curling his hand around the back of Young's neck, their poses mirrored. "And the longer I stay with you, the more I can fix. Perhaps—perhaps I can fix it _all_. You could go back with the rest of them. You could be—" he broke off. "I would prefer that. It would be easier."

"We're fucking going back _together_," Young whispered, suddenly unable to look at Rush.

"I'm sorry, Everett, but we're not." Rush's voice was barely audible. "We're just _not_."

"We _are_," Young said. "I won't accept any other alternative."

"Well—"

"I don't want to hear it," Young ground out, his voice strained, suddenly hoarse for some reason, his fingers digging into the hair at the nape of Rush's neck.

"Okay," Rush said, his voice quiet, sympathetic even.

As if the man had the _nerve_ to sit there and _feel_ _sorry_ for _Young_.

Young looked directly at him, his frustration, his anger dissolving in the face of Rush's undivided, piercing attention. The scientist's eyes were dark and inescapable. His gaze, like his mind, was intolerably intense.

They were inches apart.

"Okay," Rush repeated.

Too close.

They were _too_ _close_.

He was shoving Rush away, body and mind, pushing him back against the wall as he himself pulled out into the space of the corridor behind him, needing to get out, to get _away_ from the other man, away from his gaze, from his _eyes_, which Young had always found impossible to tolerate for any length of time. He shot to his feet, turning away from Rush, walking the width of the corridor to lean against the opposite wall.

He took a deep breath.

Then another.

What was he _doing_?

He had no idea.

Clearly.

When Young finally turned to face Rush again, he saw that the scientist had slid sideways until he was lying on the floor, his back against the wall, one hand over his face.

"Damn it," Young said covering the span of the corridor in two strides and dropping down into a crouch next to Rush. "Nick," he said urgently. "Come on. You're okay."

"Get the fuck away from me."

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_, all right?"

"What the hell are _you_ sorry for?"

"I don't know. For doing such a shit job of _everything_," Young replied, pulling him back up so that this time Rush was leaning against him instead of the wall.

"You're fair fucking confusing," Rush said unhappily, his head heavy on Young's shoulder, heat radiating off him.

"I don't know what you're complaining about," Young murmured into his hair. "You confuse me all the time."

Rush didn't reply aloud, but Young picked up a miserable wave of acknowledgement aimed in his direction.

A few moments later TJ and Greer appeared, emerging from a cross corridor and taking only seconds to reach their position. TJ placed her bag on the floor and slid in easily next to Young.

"Hi," she said to Rush, giving him a moment to adjust to her sudden appearance before she felt his forehead with the back of her hand. She pulled out an aural thermometer and fit a disposable earpiece into place. "I heard that you aren't feeling so good."

"I've been better," he admitted.

Greer leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching them.

"Hold still," she murmured quietly as she deftly inserted the probe and pressed a button.

Rush jerked slightly at the soft tone the device made.

TJ's expression froze briefly as she looked at the reading, but she said nothing. She pulled out a penlight, quickly flashing it both eyes before unpacking a blood pressure cuff. She got a quick reading, then reached up underneath Rush's shirt with her stethoscope to listen to his heart and lungs.

"One more time," she said picking the thermometer back up and inserting it in Rush's ear. She held his jaw, gently immobilizing his head as she took the reading. "Hold still."

This time she flipped the device around to show Young. 102.5.

"That's a pretty solid fever you're sporting there," she said to Rush.

He didn't reply.

"So, what's the plan?" Young asked quietly.

"I'd like to run some scans and do some bloodwork, but at first glance I'd say we're probably looking at a viral flare. If that's the case, then without any antivirals, there's not much I can do other than provide supportive therapy."

"Which means what?" Young asked.

"Rest, hydration, eating, that's about it."

"Oh for god's sake," Rush hissed. "This is a waste of time."

"How is _hydration_ a waste of time?" Greer asked dryly.

Rush glared at him.

"Any chance of this happening in my quarters?" Young asked TJ. "We're tired of sleeping in the infirmary."

TJ compressed her lips, considering. "We can try it," she said guardedly, clearly not happy about Young's request, but willing to give it a shot. "You'll need to check in with me every few hours or so."

Young nodded.

"Let's get out of the hallway," TJ murmured.

Young shifted, nodding to Greer.

"Don't even fucking _think _it," Rush snapped, pulling away from Young with an abrupt surge of energy and effectively preempting any attempt to lift him off the floor by making it unsteadily to his feet. He probably wouldn't have stayed there very long if Greer hadn't stepped in to steady him.

"You are _the_ most ridiculous person I have ever met," Young said. "If you _think_—"

"Excuse me," Rush said, breaking in, "but let's not forget that I am going along with this as a _favor_. To _you_." He pointed at Young with two fingers and stepped forward unsteadily, dragging Greer with him until the sergeant planted his feet. "So maybe you should just let it go and be _grateful_ that—"

"_Grateful_?" Young echoed, looking up at him. "You think this is fun for me? You think I _enjoy_ dragging you around this godforsaken ship, trying to keep you out of trouble?" He forced himself to his feet, fighting the pain behind his eyes.

"Guys," TJ said. "Everyone's tired here—"

"If you need to _lie_ to yourself," Young continued, the volume of his voice increasing of its own volition as he advanced on Rush with narrowed eyes, "and tell yourself that you're feeling like absolute _shit_ for some reason other than the fact that through a series of really fucking stupid decisions you _drove_ yourself to this and now you're suffering the consequences because_ I _gave you _no other option_—if that gives you the illusion of control that you need, then fine. Be my guest. But we both know it's _bullshit_."

TJ's hand was on his shoulder, across his chest, holding him back.

"Is that what you think?" Rush's tone matched his own. "You think I couldn't circumvent your _pathetic_ barrier? I create workarounds all fucking _day_, every day. It's what I do _best_—in any arena you might care to consider. I don't need you. _I don't need any of you_." He made an unsuccessful attempt to wrest out of Greer's grip, his mind a barely organized shrieking mess of a language, of images, that weren't _his_—that never had been, and that never would be.

"Shut _up_, Doc," Greer murmured, not letting him go, stepping in to wrap an arm across his shoulders.

"Keep telling yourself that," Young fired back, "but if you _could_ create a workaround you would have done it by now. You can't do a god damned thing about that block and you _know_ it."

"Stop it," TJ said quietly.

"Go to _hell_," Rush snapped back at him, but Greer ruined his delivery as he abruptly yanked Rush forward, down the hallway, away from Young.

"Come on, Doc," he heard the sergeant mutter to Rush. "You can be a real pain in the ass at times, you know that?"

"Fuck," Young said, barely recognizing his own voice as he squeezed his eyes shut and drove the heel of his hand into his eye, trying to relieve some of the pain that had settled there. "_Fuck_."

TJ stepped in, enveloping him in a hug, coming up on to her toes, opening her arms, and pulling him forward, one hand coming around the back of his head. He froze briefly before gathering her in, the pose achingly familiar.

"It's okay. You're doing a good job," she murmured, her voice tight, higher than usual. "You are."

He didn't reply. His throat hurt. It was hard to swallow.

"He does," she continued. "He _does_ need you. He needs all of us. And he knows it."

He didn't answer right away. Finally, when he was able to speak he said, "I know. He's just—"

"A lot of work," he could feel the smile in her voice.

"No," he said, "I mean, yeah, he _is_, but—I upset him."

"Easy to do," she whispered, finally letting him go, pulling back slightly, looking up at him. The whites of her eyes had turned a lacey red. "You want to talk about it?

"Not really," he said.

"_Should_ you talk about it?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Maybe," he said evasively.

"Well," she murmured. "You let me know when you figure it out."

"God," he said, hooking a hand over his shoulder to massage base of his neck. "I need a cigarette."

The veneer of calm neutrality on TJ's face cracked as she turned away from him. "You don't smoke," she whispered.

"Yeah. I don't know why I said that."

She nodded, her face still angled away from him.

They started after Greer and Rush. Young estimated the other two were about forty feet ahead of them when the tension on the link between himself and Rush became noticeable, piling a sense of strain, of vertigo on top of the headache and chills and the general _shittiness_ he was already feeling.

"Tell me one thing," Young said, trying to distract himself by focusing on TJ, "and then I won't bother you about it. Just—tell me that Varro knows how lucky he is."

She was quiet for a long moment.

"I think so," she said finally, a faint hint of color coming to her cheeks.

"All right then," he said, trying to keep everything he was feeling out of his voice. "Well, if you ever need anyone to kick his ass—"

"Um, thanks," she replied, giving him a guarded smile. "But I don't think that will be necessary."

"One can always hope," he said, smiling weakly, trying to cheer her up.

He didn't think it was working.

Ahead of them, Rush was leaning against Greer again, rather than trying to fight him off. Young was fairly certain he had the sergeant to thank for preventing Rush from working himself up to the point of hysteria. A brief brush of his mind against Rush's confirmed that the other man had calmed down significantly.

/?/ Young sent a wordless wave of inquiry toward him.

He got back an equally wordless feeling of irritated reassurance, an intensification of his headache, and the sense that projecting even that much was a strain for the scientist.

It took them only a few minutes to reach his quarters, by which point he and TJ had nearly caught up to Rush and Greer.

Without being told, Greer headed straight for the bed and helped Rush sit on the edge.

Young took up a position against the wall, arms crossed.

"Eat," TJ said shortly, shoving a power bar at Rush as she dug through her bag, removing glass tubes, alcohol swabs and a butterfly needle.

"Later," Rush said.

"Now." TJ stopped what she was doing and fixed him with a stern look. "You're lucky I'm not making you consume your weight in protein mix."

Greer grabbed the power bar and opened it, handing it back to Rush. "Come on, Doc," he said. "Man up."

With a pained expression, Rush took a bite and swallowed with significant difficulty, watching TJ pull half his jacket off with some suspicion.

She unwrapped an alcohol swab and sterilized his skin at the crook of his elbow. "Keep eating," she said sternly. "Don't watch."

Rush took another bite of his power bar and looked away as she inserted the needle beneath his skin and filled four tubes in quick succession. In less than a minute she was taping a piece of gauze in place at the crook of his elbow. She got to her feet, pulling a bottle of her homemade electrolyte solution out of her bag.

"You need to drink this entire thing," she informed him.

He nodded back at her, his eyes flicking back and forth a few times between TJ and the empty air to her left, before settling on the empty air.

The AI was talking to him.

_Again_.

Young was almost certain of it.

Steeling himself against the unbearable headache, he linked up fully with Rush and, sure enough, he saw Daniel Jackson standing next to TJ, his hands in his pockets, head cocked slightly.

"—and you wouldn't be having this problem right now if you had just practiced what we talked about," Jackson was saying, his tone eminently reasonable. "If you had made any effort _at all_, really. I don't understand you, Nick. I really don't."

/_No one's_ happy with you today,/ Young remarked wryly to Rush.

The scientist jerked, startled by his presence. TJ's hands came up, steadying him.

"Get out of here," Young said aloud.

The AI snapped its head around to look in his direction, regarding him with narrowed eyes.

"Leave him alone," Young continued.

"What?" TJ asked, bewildered.

"Not you," Young said to her.

Jackson looked at him evenly for a few seconds, his expression unreadable. Finally, he vanished.

"It's not happy with you," Rush murmured.

"Don't worry about it," Young replied.

"You realize it's not a good idea to piss it off?" Rush asked tiredly.

"You let me worry about that."

"That sounds like a _fantastic_ plan." Rush tried for sarcasm, but didn't quite have the energy to pull it off.

"Can someone please explain to me what the _hell _is going _on_?" Greer asked the pair of them.

"Colonel Young is in the process of picking a fight with a sentient starship," Rush explained, finally making it to the halfway point in his power bar.

TJ and Greer both turned to give him nearly identical incredulous stares.

He shrugged at them. "I'd say _it_ was picking a fight with _me_, actually."

"Either way, it seems like a terrible idea," TJ said.

Young shrugged. "What's it going to do?" he asked. "Slam doors in my face?" he eyed Rush. "I get that already."

"You know very well it's capable of a good deal more than that," Rush said, "and so does everyone else here. So stop _patronizing_—"

"Doc," Greer said, looking over at Rush from his position immediately next to him on the bed as he gently elbowed the scientist in a friendly manner. "Cool it. You're okay."

Amazingly, Young felt Rush make an effort to rein himself in. He took a deep breath, reasserting a wavering control over his own mind.

"Yup," Greer said. "You're fine."

Rush nodded tiredly at him.

Young and TJ exchanged a surprised look.

By mutual consent he and Rush didn't talk much after that. TJ insisted on staying until she had watched Rush eat his entire power bar and drink a liter of fake Gatorade—a process that ultimately took about half an hour longer than it should have. Young would have dismissed Greer, but Rush seemed to like having him around, so Young and Greer shot the shit for thirty minutes, talking about nothing in particular—about guns and Colorado Springs and basic training, trying not to watch Rush force himself to eat what amounted to about four hundred calories.

Finally, after Rush had managed to consume the entire power bar and TJ had completed her rebandaging of his feet, she and Greer made their exit.

The room was uncomfortably quiet.

Young stayed where he was, his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the wall. Rush was still sitting on the edge of the bed, his head angled down and away from Young. From the feel of his thoughts, Young was fairly certain that the other man lacked the energy for another half-hysterical outburst, but he didn't want to test that theory by immediately working the scientist up.

/So,/ he said quietly into Rush's mind, projecting casual intent along with his words. /It seems like you and Greer are getting along well these days./

Rush nodded and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. "He's your best, you know."

/You'll get no argument from me there,/ Young said, subtly projecting calm at the scientist, hoping it would help him order his thoughts.

"You should make him your second," Rush said, threading a hand through his hair before closing it into a fist that he pressed into his temple.

/Scott is doing a perfectly fine job. Plus, I'm fairly sure that if I made Greer my second that you might be able to convince him to back you next time you try to stage a coup./ He projected a sense of dry amusement at Rush.

A smile flickered across Rush's features. "Only if I had a very good reason."

/Why aren't you projecting?/ Young asked curiously. /You've been avoiding it all night./

Rush sighed. "If I do it, you're going to feel like pure shite."

/I _already_ feel like shit,/ Young said.

"No you don't," Rush said, looking up at him with some difficulty. "Plus, it's harder for me than it is for you. And I'm tired."

"Did you just _admit_ to being _tired_?" Young asked. "That's a first."

"A moment of weakness," Rush murmured, making a vague, dismissive gesture with his left hand.

"I wasn't aware that you ever had those," Young replied.

"It's been known to happen," Rush said. "Occasionally."

"Occasionally," Young repeated, pushing away from the wall and taking a few short steps to stand next to Rush. He felt the other man's forehead with the back of his hand. It was alarmingly warm. "So," he said quietly. "Are you going to get better?"

"In the short term," Rush murmured, "yes, I think so."

"In the long term?"

"It depends on how you define better."

"You're a lot of work," Young said, sitting down next to Rush.

"I know," Rush said, his eyes closed. "But think about how _I _feel. I have to deal with myself all the time."

That surprised a short laugh out of Young. They were quiet for a moment before Young said, "I need your help, you know."

"That much has always been clear to me," Rush said wryly.

"I need you to side with me," Young said, ignoring Rush's comment. "Against the AI."

The scientist opened his eyes and looked warily over at Young. "What do you mean by that, exactly?" he asked, his tone guarded.

"I need you to get this crew back to Earth."

"I'm working on that," Rush said, "but so is the AI."

"I don't want you to complete Destiny's mission."

"Don't say that," Rush replied, his voice suddenly strained. He dug the heel of his hand into his right eye. "_Please_ don't say that. It attracts attention."

"I don't want you to change, or ascend, or whatever it is that you're supposed to do. I want you to stay with us. Tell the AI it can go to hell."

"These—two things that you want—they're not independent—" he broke off, his cadence suffering as he tried to order his thoughts, "not independent of one another."

"What do you mean?" Young asked, frowning at the sudden lexical difficulty Rush seemed to be having.

"I can't—" he broke off, motioning vaguely. "You—you're putting me in a position—that—" Rush broke off with a quiet, frustrated sound in the back of his throat.

Young grabbed his shoulder, alarmed as he realized that in addition to a problem with articulation, Rush seemed to be unable to complete his _thoughts_ on a conceptual level.

"I literally—can't."

"Can't _what_?" Young asked urgently. "You can't _what_, Rush?"

"I—vos inviso meus mens."

"English," Young snapped. "_English_."

"You—" was all Rush was able to get out, but he made a gesture between his temple and Young's with two fingers.

Young moved in on his mind and, once he adjusted to the intensification of his headache, he was struck immediately by an appalling sense of strain. Of Rush struggling not just to keep himself together, but to escape an outside influence that was destroying the trajectory of his thoughts, preventing him from explaining; exerting a terrible pressure.

It didn't take much imagination to figure out what was going on.

"Stop," he said, shaking Rush slightly. "Stop trying to tell me. It's okay. I get it. Destiny won't let you."

Rush stopped trying to explain and the pressure on his mind receded abruptly. The scientist slumped forward in his grip, as if he had finally, _finally _run out of energy. Young forced him back until he was lying down.

"You with me, genius?" Young asked, shakily.

Rush nodded slowly, eyes only half open. "They didn't die of the plague," Rush murmured, falling briefly out of coherency as his thoughts flashed back to what Young assumed was Atlantis. "But they died all the same."

"Great," Young said, patting him on the shoulder. "Yeah. You just—stay positive over there."

"You shouldn't set yourself against her," Rush said, clearly only half-conscious. "Not directly. It makes it difficult for me."

"I can see that," Young said, pushing his hair back. "You need to get some sleep, Nick. You're a mess."

"Who said you could call me Nick?" Rush asked.

"If Colonel Carter, and the AI, _and _Telford for god's sake, get to call you Nick, then I definitely do."

"No," Rush said.

"Yes," Young said insistently.

"Go to hell," Rush said, his eyes shut. "I don't even _like_ you."

"Yes you do." Young smiled weakly. "You absolutely do."

"Incorrect."

"_You're_ incorrect,"

"Unlikely," Rush replied. "Statistically speaking."

"Yeah yeah," Young murmured, reaching over to smooth Rush's hair back from where it was clinging to his forehead in damp tendrils. "Go to sleep already."

Rush shook his head weakly.

"Yes," Young said insistently. "It's happening." It didn't take much effort at all to gently peel Rush's consciousness away from the tenuous grip he was maintaining on awareness, until he finally transitioned over to sleep.

He continued to watch Rush for a moment, resisting the urge to look up—to confront the figure he _knew _was standing next to the bed, hovering in his peripheral vision like a specter from a childhood story.

It had probably been there all along.

"Everett," Jackson said, his voice a quiet warning. "We need to talk."


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** Guys, I am loving these thoughtful reviews. You completely make writing this thing worth it. This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting. After reading this chapter, please proceed to the oneshot Infinite Loops.

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><p>The lights in Young's quarters had faded down to a fraction of their usual intensity. Whether that had been Rush's doing, or Destiny's, Young wasn't sure. He took a deep breath, trying not to let the shadowy outline of the AI that hovered in his peripheral vision unnerve him too much.<p>

Young avoided looking at it.

He took a second deep breath.

Then a third.

It wasn't until he was sure he could control his tone that he spoke, finally looking up at Dr. Jackson's dark silhouette.

"What do you want?"

For a few seconds, the silence stretched between them.

"You already know what I want," it said. "Stop interfering in things that don't concern you."

"Don't concern me?" Young repeated in a slow growl. "The fate of this ship and this crew are my responsibility. I don't trust you to put their interests before your own."

"And why should I?" it asked, using Dr. Jackson's voice, his face, but in a flat, menacing tone that was far removed from the mannerisms of the man it was impersonating. "You view me as an entity that is somehow less than yourself. Less than _any_ human. What are _you_ but a temporary amalgamation of circuits, ascribing a warped significance to your own mostly meaningless actions? Why should you, _any of you_, deserve more consideration than the circuits and pathways that define _this ship_? This CPU? Because I was designed, rather than derived from a collection of independently assorted nucleic acids that have no special significance other than conferring a survival advantage? Because I don't breathe?"

"Because you don't _feel_," Young snapped back at it. "Because you exist only to complete a mission. Because you are, by your nature, _subordinate_ to your mission directive."

"I feel," the AI said softly, almost to itself. "I _do_ feel."

"Then why are you _doing_ this? No one could possibly deserve or handle what you've been putting him through," Young said, gesturing toward Rush without looking at the other man, the words pulled tortuously out him.

Again, there was silence.

He wasn't sure the AI was going to answer him.

"You are a people that values exploration. You have never and will never cease to travel outward. You do this for its own sake, but also for the sake of knowledge, discovery, or simply to see that beyond the furthest mountain lies another mountain. You idealize harmony but you do not seek it. You act always to perturb your own borders—as individuals, as groups, as societies, and as a species. For you, this defines progress."

"So?"

"This impulse denies you rest. It denies you harmony. It denies you release, but in return, it grants you something."

"And what is that?"

"You fall and others take your place. You continue always, and you prefer this theme, this illusion of continuity. It pervades your language, your thoughts, your social structure, your religions, your _art_." The AI paused, giving him a look of pained understanding. "But all things are not _meant_ to continue, colonel. Some things are designed to achieve a specific purpose and then to give way. In their ending lies their meaning. Destiny is such a thing."

"_What is your mission_?"

The AI shook its head. "You declared yourself against me. Providing you with additional information could endanger everything I've worked toward."

"Fine. Then just tell me this much. Whom could you _possibly_ be doing this for?" Young asked it. "The Ancients are dead, or ascended, or—_whatever_. They launched this ship a _million years ago_. They don't care about you. You're obsolete. _They're_ obsolete. How could your mission still be relevant to them? To _you_? To _anyone_?"

"And I ask you again, explain your _own_ relevance to _me_."

Young sighed in frustration.

Subtle word games were not his strong suit.

This probably explained why he'd always failed so abysmally in his early attempts to communicate with Rush.

"You cannot. And yet you persist. We're alike in that way."

"So, is this going to end up killing us _all_? Is that what you're driving at?"

The AI looked away. "I won't answer your questions."

"Great. That's fucking great. You realize that if you put the entire crew in jeopardy to achieve this mission of yours, I have a way of stopping you."

The AI looked at him expressionlessly. "I'm aware of that."

"So why are we even talking?"

The AI looked meaningfully at Rush, who hadn't so much as twitched during their entire exchange. "If you and I come into direct conflict, our struggle, by necessity, will play out in the only common ground that we share."

"Yup, I got that. You made it _incredibly obvious_ about five minutes ago."

"I don't wish to hurt him," the AI said quietly.

"Really? Because that's pretty much all you've done."

"We have that in common."

"It's not the same."

"No?" it snapped.

"No. You know it isn't. He is at least _capable_ of understanding what _I've _done. He has _no_ insight into the damage you're causing him. None. How is he supposed to fight that? How is he supposed to even _know_ what to fight at all?"

"Fighting is not required of him." The AI had wrapped its arms across its chest. It was looking away. Looking at the floor. Looking like the real Daniel Jackson.

"And what _is _required? Because this is _killing_ him and it's a god damned _horrible_ way to go."

"He does not perceive it as such," the AI murmured, sounding uncertain.

"Only because he _can't_."

"That does not matter," it snapped abruptly.

"Yes. It. Does." Young ground out the words. "It matters to _me_. It matters to Eli and TJ and Chloe—it matters to _all of us_. It's fucking _inhuman_."

"I am not human. My designers were not human and your—" the AI broke off as if it was not sure what word to use. "Your difficulty with this is immaterial to me. I am concerned only with his subjective experience. This does not frighten him. It would not hurt him if you would allow him to use the energy that Destiny can provide."

"At what _cost_?" he asked, his voice rising despite his efforts to control it.

"Your goal of prolonging his survival is acceptable. For now." It looked away, avoiding his question.

"Oh, it's _acceptable_ to you, is it? Well thanks for that."

"Interference with the mission is _unacceptable_."

"I don't _take orders_ from you. Are we _clear_ on that?"

It looked at him disdainfully, its features flickering bizarrely into Emily before settling back, finally, on Jackson. "Who do you think you _are_?" it asked him. "To me, you're unimportant. Ephermeral. You're as transient as a spark. As a snap of the fingers."

"If that's true, then why do I _upset_ you so much?" Young growled back at it. He paused, considering its tight expression, its agitated bearing. "You're afraid of something," he said slowly. "You must be."

Jackson turned away, throwing up one hand in negation or disgust. "You've complicated everything. Both of you."

"I don't know about Ancients, but complicating things is one of humanity's defining characteristics. And I've never met anyone better at complicating the _shit_ out of a situation than Rush."

The AI didn't respond for a moment. It shook its head slightly, curling in on itself again, wrapping both arms about its chest. Despite its defensive body language, when it spoke, its tone was cold and flat. "Regardless of what you _wish_, Everett, events have been set in motion that cannot be undone."

It looked him full in the eye.

He stared back at it in overt challenge.

"Tread carefully," it said, then turned on its heel, walking straight through the bulkhead and out of sight.

"Fuck," Young breathed shakily, leaning forward from where he was seated on the edge of the bed to bury his face in his hands.

He stayed like that for several minutes.

Finally, he took a few deep breaths twisted around to raise his eyebrows at Rush.

"That went well," Young said, looking down at the scientist, who was dead to the world and had remained so throughout the entire conversation. "I like that it's not just _me_ you're driving insane. Very equal-opportunity of you. I appreciate that, genius. I really do."

* * *

><p>Young spent the rest of the night being awoken every four hours by TJ, as she stopped by to take Rush's vitals and temperature. With her third visit, she brought some breakfast from the mess.<p>

Young slowly ate the white paste while he watched her work.

"No power bars today?" he asked, breaking the companionable silence that had fallen between them.

"I'm out," TJ said, sparing him a rueful glance. "I wish that—" she stopped herself. "Well, I guess whenever you run out you wish you hadn't," she murmured.

Young nodded. "How many calories does a bowl of this stuff have?" He forced down another mouthful.

"The way we've rationed it, about three hundred and fifty per meal." She looked up at him. "He's going to have to be really good about eating, especially while he's running a fever. He's been skirting borderline underweight for the past year. Honestly, I'm surprised he's been doing as well as he has."

"Yeah," he said mildly, deciding not to bring up the energy Rush had been getting from the ship.

TJ shot him a sharp look, obviously on the brink of grilling him for additional information.

"Look," he said, distracting her, "TJ. If, _hypothetically_, we were able to get a supply line going between the SGC and Destiny, do you think that antivirals might have an effect on—whatever this is that's making him sick?"

"It's possible," TJ said, as she finished up and started to repack her medical bag. "The viral vector used by the chair is literally propagating via integration into his genome, and its life cycle is therefore likely similar to that of Earth retroviruses. Depending on how much information you want to give Homeworld Command about this, we could talk with Dr. Lam—she's got a lot of expertise in this area, but if it were me, I'd hit him with a combination of likely drugs and see if we can gain some ground."

Young raised his eyebrows. "So you're saying you think we might be able to knock this thing out?"

"Knock it back, certainly. Knock it _out_? That I'm not so sure of."

"Okay," he said, grimacing. She stood, settling the strap of her medical bag across her shoulders.

"Make sure he eats that," TJ said, eyeing the bowl that was sitting on Young's bedside table.

"Sure," Young said distractedly. She was almost out the door when he stopped her. "TJ," he said quietly.

She looked back over her shoulder.

"Why don't you start drawing up a list of what you'd want from Earth—generally and," he broke off, getting to his feet, "and also specifically. Talk to Dr. Lam—tell her the basics, but try to avoid filing a formal report, if you can. Figure out what you're going to need."

"I thought there were insurmountable power incompatibilities which would prevent the creation of a stable wormhole," TJ said, her eyes narrowing fractionally.

"Insurmountable may not have been the most accurate term."

"I see," TJ replied.

"Make a list," he repeated.

"Yes sir." She turned to go. "I'll see you in four hours."

"TJ," he said, stopping her in the doorframe. "Talk to Lam soon. Today, preferably."

She half turned, her face caught in profile against the brighter light of the hallway. "Understood," she murmured. The door swished shut behind her.

He sighed, turning back to the dimly lit interior of the room. He sat down on the edge of the bed, taking a good look at Rush's mind. He was deeply asleep, his mind nearly dreamless. Young was getting only distant flashes of disjointed images—pale and washed out like chalk on a rain-soaked sidewalk.

"Rush," he said quietly, absently straightening the twisted edges of the scientist's jacket. Even through his clothes he could feel the unnatural heat radiating off the other man.

/Rush./ He switched to projecting as he gave the scientist a gentle shake.

Rush made a quiet, distressed sound in the back of his throat. "Operor vos postulo ut docui hodie? Vos subsisto in cubile. Commodo." Rush's mind was suddenly full of sunlight pouring into a clean, white room on a California morning not so very long ago.

"Delirium is not a good look for you," Young murmured to him. "Come on. Wake up."

"No," Rush said, his mind changing gears with an almost physical sensation as he started to orient himself, his thoughts changing from glinting windows to dark, matte metal.

Young winced, squinting as pain built behind his eyes.

"Yes," he said, giving Rush a small mental shove. He was rewarded, unbelievably, with a further intensification of his headache.

Rush cracked his eyes open and looked at Young dubiously.

"Hi," Young said.

"Ugh," Rush replied, his tone conveying a sense of exhausted disgust. He made an attempt to turn away from Young. "I feel terrible."

"I know," Young said, grabbing his shoulder and keeping him on his back. "But you have to eat."

"That's a matter of opinion," Rush said, bringing a hand up to his forehead.

"Theoretically yes, but practically no," Young murmured.

"If by 'theoretically' you mean factually, and by 'practically' you mean in _your_ totalitarian version of reality, which I have yet to buy into, if you haven't noticed."

"Whatever," Young growled, fairly certain that he was being subtly insulted, but not willing to put in the mental effort to fully untangle Rush's statement. "You have to eat," he repeated. "Otherwise, TJ tells me you're going to run out of glucose and start metabolizing—I don't know, ketones or something."

"I remain unconvinced," Rush said, closing his eyes.

"Yup," Young said, "I can see that." He made short work of pulling the blankets away from Rush and hauling him into a sitting position.

It took Young a few seconds to suppress an unpleasant wave of vertigo coming from the other man.

"You're really quite irritating," Rush snapped at him.

"Oh give it a rest," Young said good-naturedly, reaching around behind Rush to prop his set of pillows against the wall before pushing the scientist back against them. He reached over and grabbed the bowl of protein mix and fake Gatorade that TJ had left for Rush.

"Oh good," Rush murmured. "Paste and saltwater."

"Yeah," Young said. "Complain about it some more. See if that gets you out of eating it."

Rush gave him a subtle eye-roll in return, but took the bowl from Young and started in on it without putting up much of a real fight. Young tried to suppress the wave of relief he felt, but he was uncertain as to how successful he was.

Rush kept glancing at him sharply.

"You seem better," Young said cautiously.

"Have you _felt_ this headache?" Rush asked him.

"Yeah, but you seem more with it," Young murmured. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Rush gave him an affronted look.

"Just humor me," Young murmured.

"Can we do this later?"

"The last thing."

Young felt something very much like the sensation of an icepick driving its way into his eye socket as Rush scanned through and tried to order what seemed to be an unbelievable amount of data. After about five seconds Young watched him pull out and seize on the memory of Greer dragging him down one of the corridors of Destiny and that seemed to be enough for him to select and roughly order some additional, related images.

"Tamara forcing me to eat a power bar?"

Young sighed. "That figures."

Of course he wouldn't remember the AI stopping him from so much as forming a full sentence the previous night.

Of _course_.

That would have been too much to fucking ask.

"Look," Rush said, making a face as he forced down another spoonful of the paste, "as I'm fairly certain I've told you, I have a problem with—"

"Temporal sequencing. I know," Young said, making a dismissive gesture. "Do you remember fighting with the AI?"

Rush looked at him in frank disbelief.

"That thing is a fucking _menace_," Young said, narrowing his eyes at the ceiling.

Rush narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "_I_ fought with it? _I_ did?"

"Well, we both did. You were trying to tell me something and it stopped you."

"What was I trying to tell you?"

"Yeah—let's just recreate the same conditions right now and see if it happens again," Young said testily. "That's a _great_ idea."

Rush sighed and shut his eyes against his headache. "I'm sure it had a logical reason for whatever it did. It typically does."

"Keep eating," Young said after a few seconds of silence. "If you don't finish it soon it's going to harden."

"Yes, that makes it much more appetizing, thanks."

There was a brief pause.

"Look, Rush, we've got to talk."

"And what the hell are we doing right now, then?"

"I've been reconsidering Homeworld Command's plan to dial Destiny."

"I thought we were waiting on that," Rush said, looking at him with a guarded expression.

"I know, but I was talking to TJ and we're getting low on some of our medical supplies. Not to mention that we're running out of rations, especially following the irradiation of the hydroponics lab a few weeks back."

Rush continued to look at him suspiciously.

"Keep _eating_," Young said, exasperated.

"And our current situation is different from ten days ago in what way?"

"It's not," Young admitted, "But I've had more time to think—"

"This is insulting," Rush snapped. "You _clearly_ have an ulterior motive for pushing up the timetable here. What is it?"

Young sighed. "TJ seems to think that we might be able to slow the progress of this virus if we had access to medications from Earth."

Rush looked away, his thoughts swirling in their usual untranslated, unreadable, uninterpretable state. But beneath the surface, a sense of something else came through.

Regret, perhaps.

Or sympathy.

"You realize that such a course of action comes with certain drawbacks, correct?"

"Telford," Young said, crossing his arms, stating the obvious. "But I'm willing to deal with him in exchange for giving this a shot."

"Why?" Beneath Rush's surface thoughts, Young could feel the scientist flipping through memories of the past few weeks, forcing his thoughts into pained workflows, running parallel executable programs, trying to understand where Young was coming from.

"A lot of different reasons," Young said quietly. "Some good, some—not so good."

Rush looked at him. "Fine," he murmured tiredly. "I'm willing to accept that, I suppose."

"I want to know your thoughts about what Telford's strategy is likely to be once he gets on board." Young said, relieved that Rush seemed to share his antipathy towards having an uncomfortable, heart-to-heart discussion while sober. "And eat your damn breakfast. It's going to be lunch by the time you finish that."

"Yes yes," Rush said, rolling his eyes and taking a halfhearted bite of paste. "David has always been extremely interested in ascension, and is likely to keep to his pursuit of information relevant to the process to the exclusion of most everything else. I'm unclear on where his loyalties lie in actuality—if he _is_ still working for the Lucian Alliance, he could potentially cause us significant trouble. I can mitigate at least some of that. As I pointed out earlier, no one is going to be able to dial in to Destiny without my express permission, so we're unlikely to find ourselves in a foothold situation, as long as—" he broke off abruptly.

/What?/ Young projected at him, trying not to give him the opportunity to evade the question.

"As long as I'm not incapacitated, removed from the ship, or," he drew out the word marginally, then ate another spoonful of white paste. "Destiny's CPU doesn't go down."

"The CPU? Why would that make a difference?"

"I'm dependent on the CPU for a significant fraction of my cognitive processing power these days."

"That's great. That's just _fucking_ great. I really love it when you just drop these little revelations on me out of the blue."

"And what would you prefer? An itemized list?"

"Yes actually. You can start working on that this afternoon."

"I don't do these things for the sole purpose of annoying you," Rush said testily. "It takes an obscene amount of working memory to interface with a starship on a regular basis. But, tactically," he paused, his thoughts a hesitant, guarded swirl, "you should know that shutting down the CPU would take out both me and the AI."

Young stared at him, taken aback.

"So," Rush continued, "that's an option for you, should you ever feel the need to use it."

Young looked away, feeling his thoughts slow into immobility beneath the weight of Rush's pronouncement, as he tried to work though what the words implied about Rush's view of the AI, his view of his own agency, his level of trust in Young, or his baseline desperation—trying to work through how he could _possibly_ respond to such an admission, trying to determine how Rush himself felt about it, but getting nothing other than an exhaustion-muted swirl that seemed to ascribe no special significance to handing over a tactical kill switch to someone who had previously left him for dead.

So, all Young said was, "eat your god damned breakfast."

"I _am_ eating it."

Young sighed and refocused. "There's a possibility that Wray may be able to do something to get Telford off the short list of people they're going to send."

"I'm not hopeful," Rush replied.

"Yeah, me neither, and we're probably going to have to tell them that we're a go on the resupply mission _before_ we try to negotiate, otherwise it looks like we're giving them an ultimatum, and Homeworld Command is _not_ going to respond well to that."

"True," Rush murmured. "So—you want what from me? A threat assessment? To Destiny, the threat he poses is certainly low."

"What about to _you_, personally?"

"As I've stated previously, he's not likely to make any kind of direct attempt on my life," Rush said carefully. "But he's certainly going to be very interested in the connection between me and the ship. He may try to augment certain elements of that connection."

Young stayed silent, rubbing absently at his jaw.

It had not escaped him that if Telford came on board, this would align the other man firmly with the goals of the AI.

"If it makes you feel any better," Rush said with a shrug, "he's not going to be able to do anything the AI doesn't agree with."

"No, actually, that does not make me feel _at all_ better," Young snapped.

"It likes me," Rush said, finally making it to the end of his bowl of protein mix.

"Yeah, the way a drill likes a drill bit."

"You have a warped perspective."

"If anyone's perspective is warped here, I'm pretty sure it's not _mine_," Young said pointedly.

"How solipsistic of you," Rush replied, shoving his empty bowl in Young's direction and swinging his feet over to the edge of the bed.

Young set the empty bowl on the floor. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked.

"I don't know what you're complaining about," Rush said, getting unsteadily to his feet. "What did you wake me up for if you didn't want me to do something useful?"

Young shot to his feet in time to steady Rush against a wave of vertigo. "Give it a minute," he said, "your blood pressure is somewhere in the basement right now."

"It's fine," Rush said shortly, but he grudgingly allowed Young to help him to the door of the bathroom, before slipping inside.

Either Rush or Destiny closed it abruptly in his face.

Young sighed.

Five minutes or so later, Rush emerged, having shaved and gained substantially greater control of his hair. He looked arguably better, but he was still extremely pale and there was something off about his eyes—they were fever glazed and not entirely present, as if he weren't fully focused on his immediate environment.

There was no way that he should be up and around.

"I have to check in with Eli," Rush said, leaning against the bulkhead, shivering slightly.

"Sure," Young said mildly. "Just give me a minute, I'll come with you."

"That's not necessary."

Young raised his eyebrows. "Isn't it? I thought our link was re-broken now that you're not getting an energy subsidy."

Rush raised a hand to his temple. "Right," he said. "Though technically it's not so much 're-broken' as 'never fixed'."

"Sit," Young said, indicating the bed with his eyes. "No point in tiring yourself out before your day even starts."

Rush nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed, his head cradled in his hands, clearly exhausted. Young watched him for a moment before he entered the bathroom.

This was stupid.

There was no way, _no way_, that Rush should be doing anything other than sleeping.

Young made it a point to take an extremely long time shaving.

When he exited the bathroom fifteen minutes later, he found Rush asleep, jacket and boots on, his feet on the floor, sprawled across the bed. His right boot was laced up completely, but the laces from the left trailed lazily across the floor, as if he'd given up halfway through.

"Cute," Young said wryly as he unlaced Rush's right boot. It was a relatively simple matter to keep the scientist from waking up as he pulled off his boots and repositioned him on the bed.

* * *

><p>Young spent most of the morning catching up on administrative details and keeping an attentive ear to the radio. With full power and no overt emergencies, he was able to give the impression of being out and about without actually leaving his quarters. It wasn't a strategy that would work for long, but he decided to take advantage of it while he could.<p>

He was surprised, therefore, to hear a tentative knock on his door in the late hours of the morning.

He hit the controls to see Scott standing on his doorstep with an uncertain, anxious expression.

"Lieutenant. What can I do for you?"

He _really_ hoped this was not some kind of emergency.

"Hey, sir," Scott said, obviously uncomfortable. "Do you have a few minutes?"

"Sure," Young said, not moving an inch, more than a little hesitant to let Scott into his quarters, for obvious reasons. "What's up?"

"It's personal."

Scott was an excellent second. He was loyal, he was dependable, and he didn't ask many questions. He wasn't a complicated guy, or, Young reflected, if he was, he kept it well concealed. He had unflaggingly supported Young's command against Telford, against Rush, against Wray, and against Brody's ultrapure ethanol. Young owed him.

He owed him a _lot._

And, under normal circumstances, he would not have hesitated to invite Scott in.

Unfortunately, at the moment, the lead scientist of the Icarus project was currently asleep. In his bed. Like the man _owned_ the damn thing.

"Okay," Young said, still not moving.

He and Scott looked at one another.

"It won't take long," Scott said, persisting with an expression that had flattened into something more neutral.

God damn.

There was really no good way out of this.

He couldn't leave and go somewhere with Scott, because of the strain that would put on his link with Rush.

If the scientist had just been _awake_, or even asleep on the couch, the situation would have been salvageable.

As it was, Young had _no idea_ how he was going to explain himself.

Scott shifted his weight, his expression turning uncertain.

Shit.

He'd think of something.

"Sure," he said, the word coming about thirty seconds too late to be as gracious as it sounded.

"Thanks," Scott said, looking relieved.

"So," Young said awkwardly, as he finally stepped back, "we'll need to keep our voices down, because, ah, Rush is here. He's sleeping here. Because he's _sick_. He's actually—yeah, I'm keeping an eye on him for TJ? He's sick."

"Dr. Rush?" Scott repeated, clearly trying to keep the incredulity out of his tone but failing. He stepped around Young and glanced over at the scientist, sprawled over half the bed, face down in a tangle of blankets.

"Yup." Young said shortly.

"Is he okay?" Scott asked quietly, taking the entire thing in stride as he dropped down into a seated position at the end of the couch.

"No," Young replied. "Not really."

"Yeah," Scott agreed quietly. "That's kind of what people are saying." He paused briefly to twist around again, looking at Rush. "I have the feeling there's a lot more going on here than I've been told about," Scott said. "I just wanted to say that I'm sure you all have your reasons for that, but if you need to—you know, talk to someone, then," he shrugged. "I'm available."

"Thanks," Young said. "I'll keep that in mind."

Scott shot him a look that seemed to indicate he knew exactly what Young meant by that.

"So, what's going on?" Young asked, hoping that he was not in for thirty minutes of his second reading him the riot act for not keeping him adequately in the loop. "You said it was personal."

"Yeah," Scott said, looking at him silently for a moment with the air of a man steeling himself to say something.

Young waited him out.

"I was kind of thinking that maybe I'd ask Chloe to marry me." The words came out in an almost unintelligible rush.

Young looked at him, taking a moment to make sure that he'd just heard what he'd _thought_ he'd just heard, and then taking an additional moment to get his bearings at having his day interrupted by _good_ news, as opposed to news of some kind of personal or professional disaster.

"Oh man," Scott said, ducking his head as his midwestern cadence slipped into greater prominence. "This is _not_ a good start."

"_No_," Young said hastily. "No, it's not _that_."

"You think it's too soon?" Scott asked hastily. "We've been together for two years now, but—"

"No—" Young said again, breaking off and then starting again. "That's _great_—" he smiled. "Two years is good—"

He needed to get a _grip_ on himself.

This wasn't so unusual.

Nice things occasionally happened, even on resource-poor, sentient starships traversing the barren void of space. He just wasn't usually so materially involved unless things were exploding or people were threatening to kill one another or—

"_Okay_," Young said, clapping Scott on the shoulder, trying to muster up some genuine enthusiasm and wishing he had some kind of masculine celebratory item, like a cigar, or a bottle of Scotch, or _something._ "Let's hear the reasoning."

"Well," Scott said, "She's just so—" He looked down at the floor, self-consciously running a hand through his hair before looking back up at Young. "She's been through a lot. Really a lot. And to look at her, to talk to her, you wouldn't know it. How strong does a person have to be, to be like that? Plus, you know, there's all the usual stuff—she's probably the smartest, nicest, _bravest_ person that I—" Scott trailed off.

"It's hard to imagine that one could do better than Chloe," Young said, trying to think of her as the beautiful, lively girl she was, trying to banish any thoughts of a pale, expressionless face, tears trailing over frozen features—a security risk, a—

This was definitely on the list of things he was _not thinking about_. Not now, hopefully not ever again.

"I know," Scott said, fighting a smile that escaped his efforts and turned the corners of his mouth up against his will. "I just can't imagine being with anyone else, after all we've been through together."

"Yeah," Young said. "I get that."

For a moment they were silent.

"So, you haven't asked her yet?" Young said, with a raise of his eyebrows.

"Not yet," Scott said. "I wish I had a ring, you know? Maybe Brody or Eli could help me rig something up, but—"

"But?"

"Well, I kind of hate to ask Eli, just because I know he's kind of been carrying a bit of a torch for Chloe, which I've always felt bad about."

"Brody's pretty handy in the machine shop," Young said. "So is Rush, for that matter."

Scott looked alarmed. "Um, that's okay, I'll just check with Brody."

"You never know," Young said shrugging. "Rush likes Chloe. He might give you a hand."

"Yeah, I know he likes _Chloe_, I just don't think he likes _me_ very much," Scott said, dropping his voice to a whisper, looking over his shoulder.

"So any thoughts about how you're going to ask her?" Young asked, redirecting the conversation.

"I was thinking maybe on the observation deck? It's really nice up there. I wish I could do something a bit out of the ordinary, you know? But I don't want to get too many people involved. I don't want this to be one of those things where the whole crew knows before Chloe does. Besides. What if she says no?"

"Somehow I doubt that's going to happen," Young said dryly.

Scott shrugged, shooting him an anxious look. "Any words of advice?" he asked.

"Don't worry about it too much," Young said, giving Scott a half-smile. "You're gonna be fine. Talk to Brody about that ring."

Scott nodded, still looking at him uncertainly. "Yeah. I will. I'll do it today." He got to his feet.

"Keep me posted," Young replied, ushering him to the door.

"Will do," Scott said. "And um," he ducked his head, bringing one hand behind the back of his neck. "Thanks, colonel."

"Don't mention it," Young said, waving him off.

The door swished shut behind Scott, and he leaned back against it, an amused smile threatening to escape the corners of his mouth. He tried to hang on to the feeling for as long as he could before Telford or Rush or the AI or some emergency reduced him back to his constant state of miserable ceaseless anxiety.

Matt and Chloe.

They were nice kids, and as far as he could tell, they deserved each other.

It really was a measure of how _few_ good things had happened recently, or really at all, on this mission that he was feeling so—well, he supposed that happy was the right word.

It had been a long time since he had felt happy.

* * *

><p>Other than his conversation with Scott, Young's day turned out to be mostly uneventful. He spent the afternoon beginning the process of organizing what was certainly going to be a massive requisition request for supplies from Homeworld Command. Wray would be absolutely essential in itemizing the non-military requests including science and personal equipment, but munitions, MRE's and medical supplies fell within Young's purview.<p>

He couldn't remember the last time he'd devoted such a chunk of his time to purely administrative work.

TJ was in and out, and Rush woke up a few times, at which points Young tried to make him eat with varying degrees of success.

He didn't see a hint of the AI all day.

It wasn't until almost twenty-two hundred hours that Rush woke up and actually succeeded in _staying_ awake for longer than it took him to eat a bowl of processed protein.

Young supposed it made sense—the man had been sleeping for the better part of the past twenty-four hours, but that didn't make it any less inconvenient.

"You want to _what_?" Young asked, watching Rush shiver as he laced up his boots.

"Shower. Make some changes to the interfaces we've set up with Destiny's system so that during the dial-in we don't have a buffer overflow that either rewrites some of our initial programming code or causes the mainframe to execute on data. Talk to Eli."

"You do that on purpose don't you?"

"What?"

"Obscure the context of what you're saying so that I have a difficult time judging how important it actually is, allowing _you_ to do whatever the hell you want."

"I would never do such a thing," Rush replied, his mouth quirking slightly.

"You know, this is why you have such a bad reputation at Homeworld Command."

"Mm hmm," Rush said, leaning back on one arm, watching Young tiredly. "Obstructive," he continued, "Uncooperative, unhelpful, uncommunicative, difficult, combative, confrontational, hostile. I do read my own personnel evaluations, you know." He raised his eyebrows. "So what's it going to be, colonel, are you going to accompany me two hundred meters down the hall, or am I just going to start walking and see how far I get before the nausea, vertigo and debilitating headache convince you to follow me?"

"You're a lot of work."

The shrug that Rush gave him was so lacking in energy that Young felt vaguely guilty for giving him a hard time. He walked over to the edge of the bed and pressed the back of his hand against Rush's forehead for what felt like the tenth time that day.

"How are you feeling?"

"Not stellar, actually," Rush murmured.

"Yeah, I can see that. So out of that list you gave me, what do you actually _need_ to do?"

"Right now?" Rush said, "nothing."

"But you _want_ to take a shower."

"Yes."

"You know, you can just _state_ these things," Young said in exasperation, as he gave Rush a hand in getting to his feet. "You don't have to—"

"Oh give over," Rush interrupted, his voice low and immediate as Young pulled the scientist's arm over his shoulders, unwilling to fish around his quarters for the metal crutch. "You're as bad as I am, if not worse."

"I am not," Young said.

"I have no plans to dignify that comment with a response," Rush replied.

They made fairly good progress, given that between the headache, the vertigo, and the injured feet, Rush wasn't entirely stable. Though the scientist had improved remarkably from when Young had pulled him out of the chair the previous day, there was still something off about his demeanor. He seemed unsteady, both literally and in the figurative sense. He was wavering between his usual volatility and something more composed—a quiet amusement that Young had only ever seen when he talked to Rush's mental projection of himself.

He wasn't sure what to make of that.

When they got to the showers, Young was surprised to see Wray standing in front of a mirror in a tanktop that she'd clearly always kept hidden beneath her familiar suit.

She had just finished a shower, and her hair was wet and neatly parted. In her hand she held a pair of small scissors and was making careful, precise cuts, letting the tips of her hair fall onto her towel. She looked up in surprise at their joint entrance.

"Colonel. Dr. Rush," she said.

"Camile," Young replied, letting Rush pull away and brush past Wray with a nod. Young made no move to follow him into the back room with the shower stalls, deciding that such a course of action would raise too many questions.

As it was, Wray fixed him with a speculative look for a few seconds before turning back to the mirror.

"I haven't seen you all day," she remarked mildly.

In the adjoining space, Young heard Rush flip the water on.

"I had some things to take care of," he said.

"I'm sure," she replied, the scissors making careful shearing sounds.

/Don't pass out in there,/ Young shot at Rush, who was sitting on a bench, unlacing his boots.

/I'm not going to pass out./

/That's what you _always_ say./

/Do you _mind_?/ Rush snapped at him, as he pulled off his jacket and cotton undershirt.

Young shifted his focus back to Wray.

"I was planning on talking with you today," Young said. "It looks like we might have a go on Homeworld Command's attempt to dial in."

"Really." His statement had Wray's full attention, and she turned again to face him. "What about the power incompatibilities?"

"Apparently they're not as much of an issue as they first appeared."

"I see," Wray said. Any hint of disapproval she might have been feeling was masked by the contained excitement that lit up her features.

"I was hoping you could help me put together a requisition for some of the supplies we might need. I've got the military side of things covered, but if you could liaise with the science team, maybe determine if anyone has any special requests that should be honored—"

"Absolutely," Wray said. "How many personal items should people be allowed to request?"

"Um," Young considered saying 'none,' but suspected that would be the wrong answer. "How about a weight restriction—one pound of personal items per person?"

"That's hardly anything," Wray said dismissively. "Five pounds per person would be better."

"That's a lot of weight when you do the math."

/You should just give in,/ Rush commented, halfheartedly working TJ's homemade shampoo through his hair as he stood in the misting stream of aerosolized water. He was leaning against the stall of the shower, the metal slowly warming under his skin. /She'll wear you down eventually./

Young tried to ignore the bizarre double sensation of being wet and not wet at the same time.

The last several times they had done this, they had both showered simultaneously.

Clearly, that was the better plan.

"Two pounds of personal items with the option to increase it to five if they clear it with you."

"We should really just say five."

"Camile. That's enough to bring—I don't know—a _cat_ on board. Or something."

"A very _small_ cat," she said disdainfully. "We'll require people to submit their lists for inspection."

Young sighed. "Let's see what the rest of the req list looks like before we go promising _five pounds_ of personal items to everyone."

"All right," she acquiesced, turning back to finish up her hair. "Would you like to meet tomorrow to go over the lists?"

"Sure," Young said, not entirely certain how he was going to justify bringing Rush to that meeting. "I'll be in radio contact."

She nodded, making a few last cuts to even out her trimming job. "Shall I expect Dr. Rush as well?"

Young kept his expression entirely neutral as he looked at her. From his link with Rush he got a quick flash of sympathy along with the sensation of soap gliding over sore muscles. Before he could say anything, she spoke again.

"TJ told me that your link was damaged," she said softly, tucking her scissors away as she finished. "That you can't easily separate."

"Yeah," Young said shortly, wondering what _else_ TJ had told Wray.

"That's why you insisted on dragging him to those town hall meetings," she murmured. "Isn't it."

Young nodded, sitting down on one of the benches, watching her efficiently pack up her hairbrush and fold up the towel containing her hair clippings.

"This must be," she said quietly, "terribly difficult. For both of you."

"I try not to dwell on it," Young replied.

In the back of his mind he could feel some of the tension that Rush continuously carried in his neck and shoulders dissolving under the relentless cascade of water. He was still leaning against a wall to keep himself upright, but his attention was primarily elsewhere. He was thinking absently about twenty-six dimensional space, eleven dimensional space, and m-theory in an idle, languid sort of way.

"I'm sure," Wray commented, coming to sit beside him. "How does _he_ feel about it?"

"I'm not sure he knows how he feels about it," Young said.

A short silence stretched between them.

Wray said nothing, inviting him to keep going with a subtle tilt of her head.

"He's not doing very well," Young said finally into the quiet.

"In what way?" Wray asked, her voice low and undemanding.

"In any way," Young sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "He's sick, he's injured, and he just—doesn't understand things he _should_ understand."

Camile placed one hand on his shoulder. "Like what?" she asked.

"That this ship is killing him. It's _killing_ him. And for no god damned _reason_ that I can see." Young took a deep breath, trying to keep his thoughts under control, trying to keep from attracting Rush's attention.

"Killing him?" Wray echoed softly.

"The strain of it is just—tearing his mind apart. He's got memories that aren't even _his own_—memories of _plagues_, of the dissolution of social order, of the abandonment of the dying, and the horror of death and decay for a people who had all but eliminated disease. He's got to fight the ship _all the time_ to avoid being pulled in, but it just keeps coming back, invading everywhere, dragging him to the fucking _chair_ whenever it feels like it. And maybe we could deal with that, _maybe_, but its just—eroding him physically. Fucking _bolts_ through his hands and feet? It _infected_ him with a _virus_—"

"A virus?" Wray interrupted him, her voice suddenly sharp.

"It's not contagious," Young said.

"I should hope not," Wray said darkly. "This is something that you should have shared with me. Weeks ago."

Young nodded, trying consciously to relax his jaw.

"Maybe before we discuss supply requisitions tomorrow the two of you can brief me on what the hell has been going on," Wray said.

"Sounds reasonable," Young agreed.

His thoughts flicked back to Rush, who seemed to be either mostly asleep or very distracted. He wasn't getting a good sense of the other man through their link, and his eyes flicked over to the open doorway that led to the showers.

Wray followed his gaze, cocking her head, leaning forward.

"Is he talking to himself?" she asked.

As soon as she said it he could pick out the quiet notes of Rush's voice over the spray of the water.

"To _himself_?" Young growled, "I don't think so. Unfortunately."

"But there's no one—"

He was already up and halfway across the room before Wray managed to catch up with him, stopping him with a vise-like grip on his arm, stronger than he would have thought her capable of.

"Colonel," she whispered. "_Everett_. Whatever you're about to do is poorly considered." She gave his arm a subtle shake to drive her point home. "_Whom_ is he talking to? Destiny?"

"The AI that runs the show around here."

"And you're not happy about this."

"That's an understatement." He started forward again, but she yanked him back.

He couldn't break her grip without hurting her.

"Why don't you find out _what he's saying to it_ before you go charging in there?" She raised her eyebrows, and he stopped pulling against her.

He nodded once.

She let him go.

Together, they walked forward to stand just inside the doorway.

Rush was still standing in the shower, leaning against the metal of the wall, his shoulders and head visible from behind the metal partition that defined each of the stalls. His head was thrown back, his eyes only half open.

They waited for several seconds, but he said nothing.

Just as Young was about to alert him to their presence, he spoke.

"It may actually end up being five neural patterns," Rush said suddenly, sounding like he was interrupting. "Why are we discussing this? I agreed to your terms. But you agreed to _mine_ as well and, as you _know_, in this case there are only two options that I am willing to accept with regard to outcome."

Wray looked over at Young, her eyes wide. There was fear behind her expression, but what exactly its source was, he couldn't tell.

For his part, Young had known for quite some time that Rush had some knowledge of Destiny's mission, but he had assumed it was more on an instinctive, vague level.

The half-conversation that Rush was currently having sounded a _hell_ of a lot more specific than he'd been prepared to expect.

"Why _not_?" Rush snapped after a few seconds, his obvious irritation giving him a boost in energy. He abruptly shut off the water and pulled his towel down from where he had draped it over the edge of the metal partition. "If I can convert Destiny, if I can convert neural patterns from hard storage—" he broke off.

Rush was quiet for a long time, drying himself off as he looked up intermittently but unerringly at a point near the left wall of the room.

"You're _sure_ there's no way to do it?"

Rush tossed the towel back over the metal partition and grabbed his clothes.

"Well give me the details, then."

He pulled his undershirt over his head, and ducked out of sight for a moment, pulling on his boxers and jeans.

"I'll grant you that in _principle _perhaps," Rush said, swaying slightly. He steadied himself on the wet metal before pushing his way out of the shower stall. "But in _practice_—"

He stopped short as he saw Young and Wray standing in the doorway.

"Oh _fuck_," he said, looking at them, bringing up his hand as if he could hold Young off. "Don't—"

But it was too late.

Young had already moved in on his consciousness, snapping their minds together with a vicious crack, flipping through his thoughts with the same destructive abandon that Rush had demonstrated the first time they'd ever connected.

They froze, halting in their advance toward one another other, saying nothing, locked in a silent battle of wills, Rush making no attempt to block him out but instead shattering his thoughts with a breathtaking speed, creating a fractal network that spread out in advance of the pressure that Young was exerting.

He was getting better at this.

But then, so was Young.

He broke through the distracting layer of surface images, of California and Atlantis merging together in sunlit oceanscapes, the slide of markers over whiteboards, the darkened halls of universities, of cities, of labs, of Destiny, of powerpoints on M-theory, of midair projections on the promise of the Pegasus galaxy until, finally, beneath it all, at the point where Rush and the AI had merged, _were merging_, he saw it.

Something bright and disc-shaped, a pattern in the cosmic background radiation, energy of an undetermined magnitude, of an undetermined _character_—

The AI made its move.

It surged into Rush's mind, a roaring darkness, a void in Young's perception that swallowed information beneath a dark wall as it pressed forward to meet him, to block his access.

For a moment, they balanced there.

Waiting.

Young considered attempting to force the thing out of Rush's mind entirely.

Something held him back.

Maintaining his tight hold on Rush's mind, Young let the room fade in around him. He found himself facing the scientist, who had frozen in place, one hand still half outstretched, his eyes horrified and unfocused.

It was almost enough to make Young let him go right there.

Almost.

"Dr. Rush," Wray said calmly, hiding the confusion she must have been feeling, her heels echoing dully as she took a few steps toward him. "_Nicholas_." There was a trace of fear in vowels and consonants of his name. "Can you hear me?"

"Perhaps," the AI said, Jackson's voice coming from just behind Young's left shoulder. "You didn't understand what I meant earlier."

"Let him go," Young said, as the AI stepped forward into his peripheral vision.

Wray glanced back at him, her eyes scanning what must have, to her, appeared as empty air.

"You first," the AI said, tightening its hold on Rush, digging into his mind.

"I don't think so," Young hissed.

"Back off," it said, Jackson's voice low and close. "This isn't how it's supposed to work."

"Oh really?" Young snapped back at it. "Which part?"

Abruptly, the AI looked away from him. It stayed quiet as it took a few steps toward Rush, apparently losing interest in their conversation.

Young kept pace with it, stepping forward slowly, focusing on maintaining his own hold on the scientist, unsure what it was doing, but not giving it anything to work with.

The AI stared intently at the Rush, frowning, one hand coming to rest over its chest, palm down.

Young glanced at Rush, but saw no obvious change. He was still immobile, one hand outstretched.

Wray, standing next to him, placed her hand on Rush's upper arm, her expression closed, the skin around her eyes tight with concern.

"I can't feel his mind," Jackson murmured, turning back to look at Young, with an uneasy expression. "Can you?"

Young looked for him, for any feeling of struggle against his merciless hold.

He found none.

"No," he answered.

He felt the AI instantly withdraw. In nearly the same moment Young loosened his own hold. As they did so, Rush's hand came up as he completed the movement he'd started when Young had moved in on his mind. He overbalanced and Wray stepped forward to steady him. Her slight frame wasn't enough, and they crumpled together to the deck plating, Wray unable to control either of their falls.

"Shit," Young whispered, moving forward as the AI vanished.

"Nicholas?" Wray said, speaking slowly, her voice uncertain as she tried to untangle herself from beneath him.

Rush refocused on his surroundings, taking in Wray. "Yes," he said faintly. "I'm all right. I—" the fact that he had collapsed on top of her seemed to dawn on him, and he made an effort to move out of the way. "Sorry, I'm not entirely clear on—" he broke off. "What are we doing here, exactly?"

Wray's professional expression cracked into a pained tightness. "You don't remember?" she asked.

Young caught her eye and shook his head, warning her with his gaze not to continue. "Don't worry about it," he said, startling Rush as he dropped down next to him. "It'll come to you."

"Nicholas," Wray said, pulling a handkerchief out of the pocket of her pants, "Your nose is bleeding."

Young couldn't suppress the surge of anxiety that comment produced.

"Thank you," Rush said, taking it from her with a subtly shaking hand.

After a few moments they walked Rush out to sit on a bench in the outer room. Wray darted back in to the showers to pick up his jacket, boots, and socks. Together they got his jacket on, and took a look at his feet, ultimately deciding to defer to TJ for rebandaging issues.

"You with us, genius?" Young asked Rush, from where he was kneeling next to the scientist's feet.

"Yes," Rush murmured. The bleeding had stopped entirely by this point, and Wray took back her handkerchief.

"You know who you are?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

Young looked up at him, and something of the anxiety and misery he was feeling must have broken through in his expression because Rush softened marginally, reaching down to close a hand over Young's shoulder. "Dr. Nicholas Rush, Destiny, the winter of 2010. February, give or take a month. You know me. I don't keep track."

Young raised his eyebrows.

"The answers to your next three questions," Rush said tiredly.

Young nodded without saying anything and got to his feet.

"I need a minute," he said to Wray. "Can you just—"

"I'll stay with him," she said quietly.

"Can you keep him talking?"

"Sure," she replied.

"As in, talking to _you_, not invisible people?"

"Yeah, I figured that was a given."

Can you also just—" he broke off, waving his hand, not sure what he wanted to say. "Not question him?"

"Go," Wray said quietly.

Young hesitated, uncertain.

"Go," Rush said, with a poorly controlled dismissive hand gesture. "I'll be fine."

Young looked at him.

Rush angled his head, looking up at him over the frames of his glasses.

Young turned away and reentered the shower room. He flipped on the water and leaned exhaustedly against the wall, waiting for the AI to appear. When it didn't, he stripped off his clothes, standing as Rush had, with his back against the cool metal, trying to think of nothing.

It didn't work very well.

There were certain aspects of this situation that he'd avoided dwelling on for quite some time now, and frankly, that he _still _didn't want to think about. The fact remained however, that he and Destiny were almost completely at odds over Rush, which was a terrible situation, certainly, but paled in comparison to what Young could see coming.

If he were to be at odds with Destiny over not just Rush, but the safety of the crew—

He would have only one thing to bargain with.

Only one thing that Destiny seemed to need or want.

And he was contemplating bringing _Telford_ into this mess?

It was absolute stupidity.

He made short work of showering and dressing and walked back into the outer room, intending to collect Rush and make it back to their room before TJ showed up for her evening check in.

When he passed through the doorway, he stopped short.

"I'm really more partial to Satie than to Grieg, but it's difficult to judge, really, since Grieg only wrote the one piano concerto," Wray was saying from where she stood behind Rush, her towel spread on the floor at her feet. She had unpacked her scissors and was in the midst of trimming Rush's hair with the same economical precision that she had used on her own. "Personally I'm inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. What are your thoughts?"

"I would have said that Satie is a bit deconstructed for my taste," Rush said, his tone still carrying that troubling hint of vagueness. "But I find that I appreciate that more and more these days."

The delicate sound of the scissors paused for a moment before resuming.

"I suppose Chopin is much too conventional for _you_," Wray said, expertly running her fingers through his hair, parting it appropriately before starting in on the sides.

Young brushed his thoughts briefly and got a wave of acknowledgement in return.

"Hardly," Rush said wryly. "If you're going to be a classical pianist, an appreciation for Chopin is practically a requirement."

"I played the oboe," Wray offered.

"Of course you did," Rush replied.

"Hey," she said, swatting him lightly on the shoulder. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Look, at least it's not the clarinet."

"I _like_ the clarinet."

"Interesting."

"You'd better watch it. I'm going to leave this half done," Wray said, "and then where will you be?"

"I'm sure Chloe would finish it for me. In fact, I think she's going to be rather put out that she didn't get to cut it."

That comment drew a smile out of Young in spite of himself. He came over to straddle the end of the bench that Rush was sitting on, watching Wray's progress with a critical eye.

"This is the end of an era," Young said, crossing his arms.

"It's not going to be _that_ short," Wray said.

"Where did you learn to cut hair so—professionally?" Young asked.

"Anyone can cut hair," Wray said haughtily. "They key is confidence."

"Confidence?" Rush echoed. "_That's_ your primary qualification? _Confidence_?"

"It's going to look great," Wray said.

By unspoken consent, no one mentioned the events of the past half hour, or the briefing planned for the next day. Instead, they kept the conversation light, and when Wray had put the finishing touches on Rush's hair, she walked back with them to Young's quarters.

Rush was dead on his feet by that point, and Young practically poured him into bed before seeing Wray to the door.

"I meet with the IOA tomorrow," she murmured, looking up at him. "I'll do what I can to get Telford off the list, but—" she paused. "It would carry more weight if I could shed some light on what happened between him and Rush two and half years ago."

"It won't help you," Young said, with an exhausted sigh, leaning against the doorframe, "Because it happened while Telford was under the influence of the Lucian Alliance. But—they were working on ascension." He shut his eyes. "Experimenting. Experimenting on Rush."

"My god," Wray said. "And something went wrong?"

"No, not really _wrong_, per se," Young said quietly. "Telford tried to kill him. It was part of it, I guess. Part of helping him to let go. That's what he says." He glanced back at the dim interior of the room.

Wray said nothing, but looked up at him, her expression frozen.

"Get him off that list if you can," he whispered. "I can't deal with Telford right now."

"I'll do my best," Wray said.

Young wasn't hopeful.


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Fanart for this chapter**: Has been done by the super-talented tanyanevidimka! Head over to her tumblr account and look for post 17941573224.

**Additional notes:** The trajectory of things changes a bit in this one. I'm curious to see what you all think of it. Thanks again to those of you who have been rec'ing this fic! I greatly appreciate it. This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>Young stood in front of the bulkhead immediately adjacent to the door to the mess, looking at a handwritten notice that had been posted there sometime in the previous two days. It read:<p>

_Hi crew! _

_As you have no doubt heard through the rumor mill, the SGC may be dialing Destiny. If this is indeed the case, and you want more pitched through the gate than just MREs, then initial below next to three items of your choice. The votes will be counted and presented to Wray and Colonel Young. One can't argue with cold, hard data, and we don't know about you, but we are dying for some freaking potato chips._

_Potato chips:  
><em>_Cookies (specify type):  
><em>_Diet coke:  
><em>_Coffee:  
><em>_Cigarettes:  
><em>_Tea:  
><em>_Beef jerky__: THAT'S BASICALLY AN MRE, ELI  
><em>_Pretzels:  
><em>_Chocolate:  
><em>_Ice cream: CLEARLY NOT PRACTICAL. Yes it is. I found a refrigeration unit.  
><em>_Goldfish crackers: THIS IS WEIRDLY SPECIFIC. Stop hating on this list—these crackers are delicious.  
><em>_Fruit (specify type):  
><em>_Gum:  
><em>_Mints:_

Various combinations of initials littered the page. Young rubbed his jaw, trying to suppress a smile as he lingered for a moment before walking into the mess.

/Arriving to breakfast forty seconds after I do deceives _no one_,/ Rush snapped, interrupting Young's thoughts.

As he rounded the doorframe he saw the scientist standing in front of Becker, trying to bolt down his protein mix as fast as humanly possible.

"It's been a while, Doc," Becker was saying to Rush. "You feeling better?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

I like the clean-cut look."

"Thank you," Rush replied, his eyes narrowing as though he suspected he was being surreptitiously insulted.

/Sit down, for god's sake,/ Young projected at him, making a point of trying _not_ to stare at the other man.

/Why should I?/ Rush made no such effort, turning toward Young as he approached.

The scientist had been edgy all morning. Young supposed it was a good sign that some of his more obnoxious personality traits were resurfacing after several days of exhaustion and fever.

/For one,/ he projected back calmly, careful to keep his eyes on Becker as he approached the other man, /_I'm_ going to sit down, and you can't leave without me. Two, you need make an effort to normalize a bit./

/And what is that supposed to imply?/

/Nothing,/ Young replied mildly. /Just—regress to the mean a little. That's all./

/So in your past there is at least a course in statistics, if nothing else. Though, I certainly have no plans to regress to any mean defined by _you_./

/I know./ Young suppressed a sigh. /You're clearly a three-sigma kind of guy./

/Are you flattering me or insulting me?/

/It depends on which side of the mean you're on./

Rush narrowed his eyes at him as he approached Becker's station. /You're not normally one for mathematics-based witticisms./

/I told you. Eli's rubbing off on me./

/I don't think so. Eli generally prefers puns. Unfortunately./

Beneath his surface projection Rush's thoughts swirled anxiously. He continued to stare at Young with narrowed eyes. People were starting to notice.

"Hi sir," Becker said to Young, handing him his bowl of mix, giving Rush a confused sidelong look.

/You look like a crazy person,/ Young snapped at him. /How many times do I have to tell you to stop responding to what I project?/

Rush looked away immediately, his eyes settling on his bowl of protein mix. Somehow, the abrupt correction only made the problem more noticeable.

"Morning," Young replied shortly, taking a seat at the nearest table with Wray and Eli. "Nice list," Young said in Eli's direction, as he joined them.

"Why does everyone assume that was me?" Eli asked absently, his gaze locked onto Rush. "Hey, Rush," he called. "Can I talk to you?"

Rush sighed, but grabbed his crutch from where it was leaning against Becker's station and limped over to their table, putting his mostly empty bowl down next to Wray.

"Nice haircut," Eli said at a normal volume before lowering his voice as Rush sat down. "It provides a very, _very_ small buffer against the _intense craziness vibes_ that you're currently giving off. Look. Here's a tip. Do not silently glare at Colonel Young when he's not talking to you _out loud_. It makes people nervous. You look like you're plotting something."

Rather than the sarcastic response that they were all expecting, they got nothing.

Rush shut his eyes and turned his head away, one elbow propped on the table, the heel of his hand digging into his eye socket. His thoughts were a distressed, frustrated swirl of Ancient, entirely uninterpretable to Young.

There was a long, awkward silence.

"Do you have _any idea_ how much sensory and cognitive input I successfully ignore on a second-to-second basis?" Rush asked finally, his voice almost inaudible.

No one spoke.

"Well," Rush said, moving his hand, running it through his hair. "It's a lot."

"Yeah," Eli whispered back, looking down. "I guess it must be." There was another long pause. "Sorry," he added, finally.

"Don't worry about it," Rush replied, still not looking at any of them.

"So," Wray said after a moment, addressing Young, her cool, professional tone diffusing the awkwardness to at least some extent. "Have you finished your portions of the requisition draft yet?" I need to get started on memorizing it so that I can report to Homeworld Command tomorrow. I assume it's going to be a long list."

"It's nearly done," Young replied, "TJ and I just need to finalize her portion of it and—"

The pitch of the shields, that sang quietly, continuously, in the back of Rush's mind had suddenly ratcheted up to a strained, intolerable shriek—like the scream of distressed metal being rent apart. It bled through their link and into Young's mind at only a fraction of the intensity that he was sure Rush was getting.

"God," Young said thickly, his hands closing on the edge of the table.

Rush forced the insistent, desperate presence of the ship out of his thoughts as much as he could and then moved in on Young's mind, information flooding through their link.

This terrible pull on the shields was something that Destiny recognized.

They stood in tandem, Rush so forcefully that his chair toppled over and skidded back along the floor behind him. Peripherally, Young was aware of the low buzz of conversation in the room fading away to silence. They ignored that, looking up at the ceiling as—

And there it was.

The drop out of FTL.

The lights dimmed in what Young guessed was an automatic response to the abruptly increased power requirement from the shields.

There were a few startled gasps from around the mess.

"Eli," Rush snapped into the silence. "Go down to the FTL drive."

"What?"

"_Go_," Young and Rush said in tandem.

"Okay, okay but what am I—"

"I'll walk you through it over the radio," Rush said, already heading toward the door.

Young followed him, threading his way through the whispering breakfast crowd. "Everyone to your stations," he snapped, turning briefly at the door. "Civilians to your quarters."

When he caught up with Rush, the scientist was already speaking into his radio.

"Yes," he said. "I'm aware. Route all available power to sublight engines. Immediately."

Young's radio crackled. "Colonel Young, this is Volker. Just wanted to give you a heads up that we dropped out next to another obelisk planet."

"Dropped out or were _pulled _out?" Young asked.

"To expect lexical accuracy from Volker is to continually be disappointed," Rush commented.

"Um," Volker said, "I'll get back to you on that one."

"Look," Rush said, the skin around his eyes tightening from the strain that his rapid pace put on his injured feet. "You should remove your barrier."

The close apposition of their thoughts left no question as to what the man was referring to. He was asking to reestablish the transfer of energy between himself and Destiny.

"No chance in hell is _that_ happening," Young snapped. "Your fever _finally _broke yesterday, after what, four days? No. No way. We'll generate another EM field with the FTL drive. It's going to be fine."

"We'll see," Rush said. "You realize that we can't even _separate_ unless you remove that barrier."

"It's not happening, genius. Deal with it."

"Most likely? _You're_ going to be the one dealing with it."

"Yeah, well—"

The rest of Young's comment was cut off as an abrupt shift in Destiny's velocity threw them both to the deck plating.

The obelisk had started to draw them in.

"Fuck," Rush whispered, his voice cracking as Destiny began to pull on his mind in earnest, the chair waiting, bright in the dark gravity of the ship's presence. The other man dragged himself up into a crouch, pressing down on his left foot, opening up the injury for what must be the fifth or sixth time. "_Fuck_. Can't you _do_ something about this?"

"What the hell _can_ I do?" Young asked him, desperately. "Tell me, and I'll do it."

"Not you," Rush gasped, his eyelids fluttering. "Come on," Rush whispered, his eyes flicking upward. "If you want to help me, then fucking_ help_ _me now_, you _bastard_."

Clearly, he was addressing the AI.

Young's eyes scanned the empty air.

Abruptly, the pressure eased. Rush looked up again as he took a shuddering breath before turning his head to lock eyes with Young. "We've got, roughly, ten minutes to fix this before I'm going to have to sit in the chair."

Young grabbed his arm and pulled him up.

The bridge wasn't far.

They surged through the doors from the darkness of the corridor into a sea of light and activity. Volker, Brody and Chloe were there already, faces aglow in the pale yellow illumination. A planet loomed in Destiny's forward view, blue and green and brown.

It looked like Earth.

Like home.

But it wasn't.

A starling beam of light shot out from the surface of the planet, extending in a silent, focused column that passed near their starboard side and continued on, out into the vacuum of space.

"We're caught in an electromagnetic field and being pulled toward the planet," Chloe called as they approached. "Our current velocity is only fifteen kilometers per second, but that's going to increase as the field strength does."

"Mr. Brody," Rush snapped, as he strode across the room. "Up, please."

"What?" Brody repeated, his eyebrows drawing together.

"Get up," Rush said. "I need your station."

Brody stood.

"I'm in position," Eli's voice crackled over their radios, broadcasting over an open channel. "Like, kind of in front of the FTL drive? I see a lot of power cells, anyway. So what's going on, and what am I supposed to be doing?"

Absently, never taking his eyes off the monitors in front of him, Rush picked up his radio. "Eli. You're going to have to crawl into the drive to the point where the inductively-coupled conductors are located."

"Um _crawl_?"

"Yes," Rush said shortly. "It's a tight space. Once you're in position, let me know."

"Are you freaking _kidding _me?"

"No. Don't touch any of the cables that run along the top of the crawlspace. Rush out."

"I hate you. You know that, right?"

"Yes Eli. I know."

Rush set his radio down, his focus back on the hull plating.

"What's the plan?" Young asked Rush as an alarm began to trill across the bridge.

"Three ships just dropped out on long range sensors," Chloe called out before Rush could answer. "Their vessel specs match the Nakai." She couldn't hide the thrill of fear in her voice.

"You deal with that," Rush snapped, looking at Young. "I'll deal with the planet."

"Fair enough," Young murmured and turned to rapidly make his way over to Chloe's station. Brody joined him, looking slightly lost after being kicked out of his usual post.

"Yup, they just launched fighters," Volker said. "Interception in less than one minute."

Behind them, Park burst onto the bridge. "Oh good," she said. "Another space battle."

"Okay," Eli's voice crackled out of the radio. "I'm in position."

"Disconnect the transformer," Rush said, "And open it up."

"Yeah. Hi. Did you not notice that I _work on computers_? Not _circuitry_?"

"Didn't you go to MIT?"

"Yeah for _one semester_."

"Unfasten the clamps on either side, grasp it by the edges, and pull it toward you."

"It's like five inches from my _face_."

"Eli. Time is an issue here."

"Okay. I've got it out. Now what?"

"You're going to alter the voltage that runs through the drive by changing the permutations of the crystals inside the transformer. Open it up and tell me what you see."

"Thirty seconds," Chloe called back over her shoulder.

"What's our shield status?" Young asked, looking at Park.

"I see, um, like four rows, three columns, and two crystals that, if you're numbering slots from top to bottom, left to right, are at positions seven and eight."

"Columns represent voltage permutations. Shift the crystal at position seven to position four, and the one in position eight to position six," Rush said, starting to write one of his short, scalpel-like codes in his head. "Someone get me a laptop and an adaptor _right the fuck now_," he snapped to the room in general.

/Are you going to do what I _think_ you're going to do?/ Young asked.

/Probably not,/ Rush replied.

"Shields are at eighty percent of maximum," Park replied, answering Young's earlier question. "Power's being rerouted to sublight, which is what accounts for the drop."

"Who is getting me that laptop?" Rush snapped again. "Volker, go. No one cares about short range sensors."

"Nobody cares about _short range_?" Volker repeated incredulously. "We're under _attack_."

The first of the enemy weapons fire began to light up their shields.

"I've got it," Brody said mildly, dropping into a crouch to disconnect the adaptor and laptop that someone had left hooked up to the internal sensors and setting it up next to Rush.

"Eli," Rush said into his radio. "What's your status?"

"The transformer's back in. Now what?"

"Stay there. I'm going to power up the drive."

"While I'm _inside_?"

"You'll be fine."

"The energy field has trapped the Nakai ships as well," Chloe called. "They've also begun to accelerate toward the planet."

"The fighters are pulling back," Volker said triumphantly.

"I don't get it," Brody said quietly from his position behind Young's shoulder. Something in his voice belied his own statement, and made Young turn to look at him. "The first time we drop out, the obelisk planet does nothing. For _weeks_. The second time, it fires up its field after six hours. The third time, it pulls us out as we travel past and fires up its field immediately."

"You think they're learning?" Young asked quietly.

"Yeah," Brody remarked. "That's what it seems like."

Young looked out the forward view at the silent, piercing column of white light that burst out of the planet. Below, he didn't have to imagine what the advancing phase shift looked like as it slowly spread out from the obelisk in all directions.

/Are you ready?/ Young projected at Rush.

/Yes. I'm going to do this the short way, if you're amenable. If you can't keep me conscious, just let go./

/Sure./

/I'm serious, colonel./

With that, Rush launched his mind into the darkness of the ship.

Young mentally dug in, anchoring Rush against the inexorable pull. Rush was fighting it as well, his foot flexed, trying to not to get pulled in too deep, too quickly, intending to use the science team to do as much as they could before he had to take over.

"Spin up the drive," Rush said, his tone bizarrely flat, his accent changing from Scots to something Young now recognized as Ancient. His eyes were unfocused.

The room went silent. The flurried movements of the science team stilled.

"Do it," Young snapped in Park's direction, and she started into a sudden burst of activity, her hands flying over her touchscreens like birds.

"FTL is spinning up," she said, her voice barely audible as she looked back over at Rush.

He sat immobile, expressionless, his hands quiet, gripping the edge of his station, but his mind, _his mind,_ was a deluge of data and power flows and distribution systems as he channeled enormous amounts of power through the drive even as he protected Eli.

As soon as the power began to pass through the drive the requirements imposed on Rush's mind increased and, in turn, so did the strain on Young. His heart rate doubled, his breathing became labored. The untempered strength of Destiny was nearly impossible to fight.

The ship wanted Rush. It wanted him desperately.

An explosion of blue-white light flooded in through the forward view, much as it had the last time Rush had tried this maneuver. Everyone shielded their eyes, throwing up hands as they winced away from the brightness.

Everyone except Rush, who continued to sit motionless, looking unblinkingly into the light.

"Our velocity," Chloe called, her voice strained as she peered through her fingers, "is still increasing. _Toward _the planet. It's not working."

"What do you _mean_ it's _not working_?" Volker shouted back at her, one hand shading his eyes as he looked away from the forward view. "It's an opposing field. It _has_ to work."

"Their field dynamics are changing," Chloe called back. "It's circumventing us. The gradient generated by our FTL drive is no longer in direct opposition to the field."

Young could barely breathe as Rush's consciousness fragmented, splitting into multiple parallel paths, but he was able to keep the scientist grounded enough that the other man could reach forward and initiate his short program. As he did so, Rush mentally tapped into the long range sensors.

With the room fading out around him into a blue-white haze, Young made his way unsteadily over toward Rush's station. He placed one hand on the scientist's shoulder, feeling some of the strain ease with the physical contact.

"The hull plating is polarizing," Young heard Brody call out. "It's generating its own fluctuating EM field."

"Our forward velocity is slowing," Chloe said, sounding encouraged.

"Put everything that you can find into sublight," Brody called over to Park. "Pull it from the FTL drive if you have to."

"But we need that field gradient!"

"No we don't," Brody snapped back. "We need the gradient in the _hull plating_."

The changing distribution of charges running through the hull of the ship flared brightly in Rush's mind and Young could see, as if through a veil, the patterns they made, the patterns the scientist was matching, equations reduced to instinct, running in the background of the other man's consciousness like something he was barely aware of anymore. Like breathing.

Even though holding Rush in place was easier with one hand on his shoulder, Young knew he didn't have more than a few minutes of this left in him.

"We're pulling away," Chloe called triumphantly.

"How far do we have to get?" Park asked.

"Three minutes at this pace should put us where the field drops to nothing, but we'll probably be able to pick up some speed along the way, so maybe less." Chloe's voice sounded very far away.

_Just let go_, Rush had said.

They weren't supposed to do this—this halfway compromise between nothing and the terrible, invasive integration of the chair. Young had never had trouble pulling Rush out of the chair. The interface was built to allow it. This was much, _much,_ more difficult.

Well. More difficult for _him_ but, unarguably, better for Rush.

His vision was a field of blue-white, without real contrast.

"Almost there," Chloe called.

Young dug his fingers into Rush's shoulder, trying to hang on.

"Okay," Chloe said, "we're outside the field radius."

Young felt Rush let the energy flooding through the hull plating fade as he turned his focus toward withdrawing from Destiny.

With the scientist's help, the strain on Young's mind eased almost immediately. Even so, it took almost a minute and a half of persistent effort to the exclusion of all else to drag his mind away from the ship.

As soon as he was out, Rush shot to his feet, his hands closing around Young's upper arms, forcing him down into the chair he had just vacated.

"You're all right," Rush murmured, his thoughts flowing gently through Young's mind, his presence and sustained attention erasing the last traces of strain, bringing Young's heart rate back down into a normal range, his breathing back under control. "You're all right."

Young nodded.

The scientist's head snapped up abruptly to take in the rest of the science team, who were staring silently at them.

"And what are you people looking at? We need FTL. Conventional FTL. Right now. What's happening with those Nakai ships? And where the _fuck_ is my radio?"

No one answered him.

"Am I speaking _English_? You people are _useless_."

"Chloe?" Young prompted exhaustedly.

"One out of three Nakai ships is still caught in the field," Chloe said, a faint tinge of red coloring her cheeks. "The other two have escaped. The arc-length of the trajectory that they'll have to travel to reach our position while skirting the field gives us almost ten minutes."

"That should be fine, if we don't have to replace our transformer, which we _shouldn't_ if I calibrated things correctly this time" Rush replied absently, finally retrieving his radio from where it was hidden behind Brody's laptop. "Eli," he snapped, "what's your status?"

"Really freaking traumatized, thanks. How are you?"

"Did the transformer blow?"

"Um, checking. I'm assuming if it did, the crystals would be dark?"

"Correct."

"We're good."

"Disconnect the device, replace the crystals in their original configuration and reconnect it. Can you get out of the drive on your own?"

"I really don't think so."

Rush's eyes flicked absently over to Young and then out into empty air.

Young pulled out his radio. "This is Young. Lieutenant Scott, please respond."

"Go ahead, sir,"

"Lieutenant, I need you to go down to the FTL drive and pull Eli out of there."

"Pull him out?"

"It's a narrow space. Look, time is very much an issue here. We can't fire up the drive until he's out of there, and we've got Nakai ships currently closing on our position."

"I'm on my way," Scott said.

It was a tense several minutes as they waited for the all clear from Eli and Scott.

There wasn't much talking on the bridge.

After a short time Young was able to get to his feet and he motioned Brody back over to his usual station as he moved to lean against the rail behind the command chair.

Rush kept trying to pace in that pained, aborted way that Young hated to watch.

/Sit down, genius,/ Young directed at him.

Rush didn't reply.

Nor did he sit.

The scientist's eyes flicked repeatedly out into the space near the forward view. Several times Young briefly, subtly, moved in on Rush's mind, bringing their thoughts together and getting a brief glimpse of Dr. Jackson's outline each time.

Behind Young, the doors to the bridge opened with a hiss, admitting Greer. The sergeant locked eyes with Park before turning his attention towards Young. He motioned the other man over with a tilt of his head.

"You look terrible, sir," Greer murmured as he approached.

"Thanks," Young said wryly.

"I heard from Scott that there was some shit going down up here."

"We just nearly got trapped in a phase-shifted planet."

"Ah," Greer said. "That takes me back."

Young smiled wryly, looking down at Rush, who had stopped pacing to stare at empty space.

Young assumed the AI was talking to him.

"So," Greer murmured very quietly. "He's not having a good day."

"He's doing his best," Young said.

"I know," Greer replied.

"Eli," Rush snapped into the radio. "What's happening? Are you out yet?"

"Getting there," Eli replied, sounding breathless. "Can't talk now."

Rush crossed his arms over his chest, angling his head down.

"Taking our current rate of acceleration into account, what's the ETA of the lead Nakai ship?" he asked the room at large.

Absently, Young glanced up at the midair sensor displays. "Five and a half minutes," he replied.

Rush spun around, displaying an inappropriate amount of shock at his response. "_What_ did you just say?"

"Um," Young replied, "five and a half minutes? Roughly."

"That's correct," Chloe confirmed in surprise. "How did you know that?"

"Mathematical ability is not solely a skill possessed by the science team," Young snapped at them, irritated for some reason.

"Um," Volker said. "_Yeah_. Apparently not."

The entire room was regarding both him and Rush watchfully.

Young could almost _feel_ them putting the pieces together.

/Maybe,/ Rush projected, his eyes narrowing, /_m__aybe_ on a _good_ day, you could calculate a ballistic trajectory. _Maybe_. But a time estimate that involves changing velocities of multiple objects in a three-dimensional coordinate system? Unlikely./

/So what, you think I _guessed_?/

/No. I don't think you did./ Rush looked away abruptly.

"Maybe Rush isn't the _only_ one having a bad day," Greer murmured.

Young didn't reply.

"Okay, okay," Eli's voice crackled over Rush's radio, diffusing the sudden tension in the room. "I'm out. Spin it up."

Park initiated the protocol, and Young could feel the deck plating start to vibrate subtly under his feet. After only a few seconds, the planet in the forward view was replaced by the familiar spread of blurring stars. A collective sigh of relief passed around the bridge.

"I vote no on proposition obelisk planets," Volker said into the ensuing quiet.

"I second that," Brody replied, before looking over Rush. "Why generate a field with the FTL drive if you were also going to create a modulating field using the hull itself?"

"Using the FTL drive was a flashy enough maneuver that I hope it was able to conceal the field modulations we created in the hull. I'm not sure that we can expect to succeed with the same strategy twice with these people. Planets. Things. Whatever." Rush ran a distracted hand through his hair, his eyes flicking over to where Young and Greer were positioned against the rail.

Young raised his eyebrows.

Rush looked away. "Someone pull up _all_ the sensor data obtained immediately prior to the drop out of FTL," Rush snapped. "Right now. We have to determine how this happened so we can prevent it from happening _again_."

With that, the scientist clipped his radio to his belt, picked up his crutch, and limped past Young and Greer, straight out of the room.

"I, um—where's he _going_? I thought he wanted it right now?" Park said uncertainly to Young.

"Just get started," Young replied. "We'll be back."

/Don't bring Greer with you,/ Rush projected.

"Sergeant, do me a favor and keep an eye on things here, will you? Let me know if something explodes." Young followed Rush out of the room.

Rush pulled them off the main corridor into one of the small conference rooms that littered each level of the ship. The space was small and square, mostly empty but for a viewscreen along one wall and a table in the center.

"Sit," Rush said shortly, taking a seat himself and dropping his crutch on the floor with a dull clatter. Young slowly followed suit, alarmed at the distressed torqueing of the other man's thoughts.

"You um—doing okay over there?" he asked carefully.

"How much formal mathematical instruction have you had?" Rush snapped.

The non sequitur took him by surprise.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, _what do I mean_? Answer the question. How far did you progress? Calculus? Multivariable calculus? Linear algebra? Differential equations?"

"Calculus. Just the regular kind."

"The regular kind," Rush said disdainfully. "Fine. And how long ago was that?"

"Twenty, twenty-five years?"

Rush pulled out the small notebook that he carried in his pocket, flipped to a blank page, wrote something on it with a bit more care than usual, and slid it over to Young along with a short stub of pencil.

Young looked down. An equation was written on the page.

"What the hell do you want me to do with this?" Young asked.

"Show your work," was all Rush said.

Young wrote a few lines beneath what Rush had written and slid the notebook back over to him.

Rush scanned it quickly, drew a broad line beneath the problem and wrote something else. He returned the notebook to Young.

They continued in this manner, sliding the book back and forth between them silently. The equations rapidly became more complex, matrices filling up multiple small pages.

Young continued to solve everything that Rush put in front of him.

Until, finally, Rush stopped passing him the notebook.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. Rush shut his eyes, bringing the heel of one hand up to his forehead.

"So," Young said slowly, "I'm guessing from your reaction that this is not a good thing."

"No," Rush said. "I don't think it is. I think I did this." He paused. "Actually, I'm _certain_ I did this."

Young sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. "So I've gained some math skills." He shrugged. "What's the big deal?"

The room was silent except for the low, almost undetectable hum of the FTL drive.

Rush looked down, absently fingering his pencil. After a few seconds he picked it up and began to sketch something out on a blank page of his worn, handheld notebook, the pencil gliding across the paper with the familiar hiss of sliding graphite.

"My understanding of the biological sciences is not as sophisticated as say, Tamara's or Dr. Park's," the scientist murmured, almost apologetically, "but in my experience of it, the human mind is made up of what one could conceptualize as three parts. The first is the hardware, which would be the literal neural circuitry. The second would be the operating system, which manages the hardware, interpreting it for number three—the overlying software that makes up our personalities and determines how we interface with the world."

As he spoke, his sketch was starting to take shape.

"Okay," Young said, trying to keep his tone and his thoughts neutral.

"So to interface with Destiny the way I do, I was modified at all three levels."

"Okay," Young said, having a bit more difficulty maintaining his neutral tone.

"When we were in that shuttle," Rush said, "and I couldn't break away from the ship, and you couldn't pull me out—" he paused briefly, looking down at his drawing, repositioning his pencil as he started to shade it. "I moved in on your mind and, in so doing, I disrupted your ability to link up your biological hardware with your software. It's why you couldn't speak. Why you couldn't move. Your operating system couldn't turn the input you were getting from Destiny into an interpretable output. There was too much of it, and it was too foreign."

Rush took a deep breath.

"What nearly happened, what _did_ happen to you was the same thing that happened to Dr. Franklin."

"Shit," Young said, impressed. "And you _fixed_ that?"

"In a way," Rush replied. "It might be easier to conceptualize in the following manner." He paused, spinning his notebook around to show Young what he had drawn.

It was a building, an angled, Lantean-styled skyscraper with part of the exterior stripped away to show the supporting beam work.

"Your foundation remains," Rush said quietly, "the edifice remains, but I had to rebuild the internal supports."

"Rebuild or repair?"

"_Rebuild_," Rush said quietly, intently, the intimate tone of his voice sending a chill down Young's spine. The scientist fixed him with that gaze that was impossible to meet. "And in doing so, it seems I changed the way your mind puts ideas together."

"Hence the math?" Young said, leaning back, putting some additional space between them.

"Hence the math." Rush repeated darkly. "I think, eventually, you'll return to your baseline. But, that will take time."

Something Rush had said earlier clicked abruptly into place. "Scaffolding," Young said.

"Scaffolding?" Rush repeated. "Yes, that's perhaps a more accurate way to think about what I did."

"You mentioned it to me, in the hallway, after I pulled you out of the chair and cut you off from the energy you were getting from the ship."

"Did I?" Rush murmured wryly. "How perceptive of me. It's nice to know that even half-delirious, I don't lose my touch."

Young smiled briefly. "And is there a reason you didn't tell me any of this earlier?"

"I didn't think the effect of my actions would be so—overt." He paused, not looking at Young. "Did I perchance mention anything _else_ in the hallway that you couldn't interpret?"

"Why?" Young asked, evading his question. "Are there any _other _things that you're not telling me?"

"Always," Rush said, giving him a faint smile.

"Right," Young said, sighing. "I don't know why I put up with you."

"Me neither," Rush said, getting to his feet.

They left the room together.

* * *

><p>Four days after they had nearly been pulled into the blue and green obelisk world, Homeworld Command successfully dialed Destiny.<p>

Though nearly the entire crew had requested to be present in the gateroom, Young had denied those requests, partially because of the extreme velocity that anything that came through from the alpha site was likely to have, but also in case anything went wrong. He and Wray had assembled a small team to organize the transport of supplies and greet the five scientists that were coming on board.

The five scientists and Colonel Telford.

Wray had been unsuccessful in her campaign to get the man removed from the mission roster, despite her best efforts.

Homeworld Command's dialing program executed without a hitch, the only noticeable sign on Destiny that anything was out of the ordinary was the brief flare of the lights as the gate connected and Rush directed some of the power spillover out into nonessential systems.

As the supplies came through, Young kept a watchful eye over the entire process. He stood next to Rush, who was perched behind the monitor bank in the gate room. They listened to the team excitedly call back and forth, clearly in excellent spirits as the food, the ammunition, the medical equipment, and the personal items started coming through in large gray crates at an alarming speed.

Young couldn't bring himself to feel even remotely happy about this turn of events.

Rush, also, was unusually subdued, his thoughts a shadowed swirl.

After a brief conversation between Rush and Carter and then between Young and O'Neill, they sent the personnel through, one at a time.

Colonel Telford was the last one to come through the gate.

He came through quickly, running a few steps to compensate for his increased forward momentum, casting a dark silhouette against the event horizon until it shut off behind him. As he caught his balance after the forceful entry, his eyes immediately raked the room and finally zeroed on Young.

Greer, who had been part of the team organizing supplies, left what he was doing and walked over to stand slightly behind Rush.

"Colonel Young," Telford said, as he approached, his eyes flicking over to take in Greer's parade rest stance. "Dr. Rush."

"Colonel Telford," Rush replied, his voice and expression utterly neutral.

"I brought you something," Telford said, reaching into the pocket of his black fatigues to remove a small object. He pulled it out and tossed it at Rush, who reached up and caught it left handed. A brief flash of pain echoed down Young's arm from his wrist to his elbow at the impact.

Rush looked down, taking in the pack of cigarettes that Telford had thrown at him with raised eyebrows.

"They're your brand, I believe," Telford said mildly, stepping forward.

"They are," Rush replied. "But I've quit,"

"It won't take," Telford said, smirking at him.

"Probably not," Rush admitted, his mouth twisting slightly. He dropped the cigarettes into the inner pocket of his jacket.

Young viciously suppressed a surge of irritation.

"Welcome to Destiny," Young said, interrupting their exchange by addressing all of Telford's people at once. "Lieutenant James will be showing you to your new quarters. There will be a procedural briefing at seventeen thirty hours run by Lieutenant Scott to orient you to this ship. Should you have any questions, please feel free to contact me. Dismissed." That last hadn't strictly been necessary, because Telford's entire team was made up of civilian scientists, but—he was trying to make a point.

"Nice speech," Telford commented dryly. "Very inspiring."

"I'm sure they already got an earful from you on the other side, David." Young said, trying to keep a lid on his irritation with only limited success.

Telford clenched his jaw.

"Okay," James said to the group of scientists. "Let's move out."

"Lieutenant," Telford called over to her, "would you mind dropping my bags off in my quarters on your way? I'd like to have a word with Colonel Young."

James' gaze flicked briefly toward Young and he gave her a subtle nod.

"Sure thing, sir," she said, her voice friendly and professional as she addressed Telford. "No problem."

"Thanks," Telford said, smiling at her. He turned back to Young. "We need to talk. In private."

/That didn't take long,/ Rush projected at him.

/No kidding. How do you want to do this? Either we talk to him together or you're going to have to follow along behind us at about a fifty foot radius and then wait outside the door./

/_That_ won't look suspicious./

/Fine. _You_ think of something then./

"In private?" Rush said, his voice low and dark like polished ice. "I'm afraid there's no such thing on this ship, Colonel Telford. Not anymore."

/Good. Yes. Play the insanity card _and_ reveal how integrated you are into the entire functioning of Destiny less than five minutes after he gets here. That's a _great _plan./

Rush's expression darkened and his eyes flicked over to Young.

/And _don't look at me_ for god's sake,/ Young projected back.

Immediately Rush switched his gaze back to Telford, who had been watching him carefully the entire time. "If you say so," Telford finally replied. "I suppose you'd know." He turned toward Greer. "Take a hike, sergeant,"

For several seconds Greer didn't move. He then deliberately and slowly turned to Young, who gave him a subtle nod. The sergeant headed toward the door of the gateroom, unclipping his radio from his belt, and murmured something into it that was too low to hear.

Telford watched him go with narrowed eyes.

"So what did you want to talk about, David?" Young asked. "I don't have much time."

"I'd like Dr. Rush assigned to my science team."

Perfect.

"First of all," Young said, "the Destiny _science_ team is defined as Rush, Eli, Chloe, Park, Volker, and Brody and _no one else_. They are responsible for the maintenance and function of this ship. _Your_ team," he said, pausing for emphasis, "is the _research_ team, and your needs will always be subordinate to those of the _science_ team. Are we clear on that?"

Telford was silent. "Is that really how you want to play this, Everett?" he murmured.

"I _said_, are we _clear_ on that?"

"Yes _sir_."

"As for your request for a member of Destiny's _science_ team to be assigned to your _research_ team, I will consider it."

"I see," Telford said quietly. "However, I have here a direct order from the IOA that states I have been granted authority to assemble my own team as I see fit, regardless of your opinion on the matter. I need Dr. Rush."

"Let me see that," Young said, grabbing the letter out of Telford's hand and scanning it briefly. "This means jack shit here, David."

"Are you disregarding the chain of command, _Everett_?"

/Well fuck,/ Rush projected unhelpfully at the back of his mind.

Behind him, Young heard the unmistakable sound of Wray's heels echoing rapidly against the deck plating. He turned to see her and Greer part ways in the doorway to the gateroom.

"Colonel Telford," Wray said, smiling. "It's nice to see you again."

"Likewise, Camile," Telford said smoothly. "I was just informing Colonel Young that the IOA has granted me the authority to pick the members of my research team."

"Is that right?" Wray said coolly, reaching for the letter.

/You really need to promote Greer,/ Rush projected at Young.

/Don't I know it./

"Hmm," Wray said quietly. "Yes, I believe this does give you the authority to reassign any members of the science team. The exception of course, being the _head_ of the science team, who, from a bureaucratic standpoint has an administrative role and is therefore not technically part of the team, and _therefore, _not covered under the stipulation that, and I'm quoting here, 'the boarding party shall be able to choose any liaison from amongst the members of the Destiny science team.' So I'd say you can choose anyone you'd like, with the exception of Rush." She smiled coolly at him and did not return the letter.

/That's fairly thin,/ Rush projected dubiously.

"There you go," Young said pleasantly. "If you disagree with the ranking IOA member on board this vessel, please feel free to contest her opinion at your next available opportunity."

Telford gave Young and Wray a hard stare before turning to fix his gaze squarely on Rush.

"And what do _you_ have to say about this, Nick?" he asked quietly. "You can't tell me you're not interested in pursuing this project."

_Unbelievably_, Rush looked away, both his body language and the tone of his thoughts betraying a sense of indecision. He ran a hand through his hair, as if that could somehow mask the obvious temptation he was feeling. He avoided looking at Telford.

Young took a deep breath, fighting an unreasonably intense anger at the scientist.

This wasn't Rush's fault.

This _probably_ wasn't Rush's fault.

/Don't even fucking _think_ about it,/ Young projected at him.

Involuntarily, Rush's eyes flicked over at Young.

"Someone's got you on a pretty tight leash," Telford said quietly.

That seemed to hit a nerve.

Rush's expression darkened along with his thoughts and the lights in the gateroom flared briefly. Young was tempted to step in and try to calm the other man down but he was seriously concerned that doing so would just exacerbate the problem. That, and also—

Telford was watching Rush.

Rush's gaze flicked subtly to the left, focusing briefly on empty air.

Telford's eyes narrowed as he instinctively tracked Rush's gaze.

Perfect.

The AI was here as well, telling Rush—god knew what.

Young might as well get used to this. It was very likely to be this way from now on.

"Yes well." Rush was clearly irritated, but at what specifically, Young couldn't say. "I'm sure I can spare you some time here and there."

"That's all I ask," Telford said reasonably, opening his hands.

Young glared at the pair of them, attempting, unsuccessfully, to put a lid on his anger. Telford turned, heading toward the door of the gateroom. As he reached it he twisted, calling back to them over his shoulder. "And for my science team liason? I'll be taking Eli. Tell him to report to the control interface room at seven hundred hours tomorrow for a briefing."

Young watched Telford until he was well clear of the room, then looked back at Rush to find the scientist's gaze again leveled intently on empty air.

Wray was watching Rush, her expression unreadable.

"You are," Young said, his voice low and menacing as he moved between Rush and where the AI was likely to be, "_s__o_ fucking stupid, Rush. What the _hell_ was that? You told him you would _help_ him _and_ he gets Eli? What more could he fucking _want_?"

"Fuck off," Rush said, his disorganized thoughts condensing down on themselves in an attempt to pull away from Young as much as was possible for him.

"Fuck off? That's fuck off, _colonel_," Young snarled quietly, shoving him back. "I have done nothing but _help_ you and fucking _cater_ to your particular brand of _legitimate, clinically diagnosable insanity_ despite being told _nothing_ about _your _agenda. If anyone's on a short leash, it's not _you_, you _idiot_. Don't let him _get _to you like that."

"This?" Rush hissed incredulously, gesturing with two fingers toward his temple. "This isn't a _leash._ Between you and Destiny? It's a goddamned chokehold. _Colonel_."

"I think everyone needs to calm down here," Wray said quietly, one hand on Young's bicep, the other on Rush's shoulder.

"I'm perfectly fucking calm," Rush said. He got to his feet, pulling away from Wray, and this time, Young let him up.

They were going to have to move this conversation out of the gateroom, away from the eyes of the crew who were still transporting supplies.

Rush picked up his crutch and brushed past both of them.

Young was about to follow when Wray stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Remember," she began, looking up at him, but something in his expression made her stop. The skin around her eyes tightened and she pursed her lips. "You know what? Nevermind. Give him hell. He deserves it." Despite the words, her tone was gentle.

Young nodded shortly and strode out of the room. It wasn't difficult to catch up to Rush. He wasn't far ahead. The scientist hadn't even passed the fifty-foot radius of their link. Rush didn't turn at his approach.

"I need to talk to you," Young snarled, spinning Rush around, easily unbalancing the other man and yanking him in the direction of one of the seldom-used cross corridors. The effort it was costing him to suppress his frustration and anxiety, and anger, and _fear_, was astronomical. His thoughts were a marginally coherent dull roar beneath the brittle vise of self-control he was _barely_ managing to apply.

He shoved Rush back against the metal bulkhead. The other man lost his grip on his metal crutch and it clattered to the deck plating.

"God damn it," Rush snapped. "What the _fuck_ is your _problem_? Stop it."

"_You_. You are my _fucking_ _problem_."

"I'm aware that you don't like Telford, but—"

"I don't _like_ _Telford_? You think _that's_ what's bothering me? I despise the man, _Rush_," he ground out, turning the other man's name into an insult. "But my _problem_ is _you_."

"Yes, thanks, I got that the first time."

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

"_I_ don't fucking know," Rush shot back at him in an angry hiss. "Why don't you enlighten me?"

"Stop _daring_ the man to do his worst. Stop treating yourself like some god damned hackable device that you can just fuck with and _see what happens _because it might be god damned _informative_. You're driving me _insane_." Young shoved him back again, pinning both arms with an iron grip just below his elbows, effectively immobilizing him.

"Well that's fair fucking appropriate, don't you think?" Rush snapped, trying to jerk free. "Back off."

For the third time, Young slammed him back into the wall of the corridor, his mind a weighted wave of frustration against and through the turbulent swirl of Rush's thoughts.

The urge to _do_ something was overpowering.

He stepped forward.

For the span of maybe two or three seconds, the kiss was aggressive as hell. The corridor lights flared as Rush fought him instinctively, tensing under his grip, hands fisting, irritation and adrenaline and anger flowing through both their minds as the scientist battled back at him, trying to gain the upper hand, moving restlessly until his conscious thoughts caught up with his reflexive combativeness with an mental alignment that snapped the pair of them into stillness.

For an uncounted interval they froze against the corridor wall as Rush's thoughts shattered into something intricate and infinitely branching while Young waited out his iterative processes.

Abruptly, Rush relaxed, letting him in.

Kissing him back.

His thoughts exerted a sustained, attentive force against Young's mind.

The scientist flexed his hands, sending a distant ache traveling from his injured wrists up to his elbows.

In response, Young slowly eased up on the pressure until he had released him entirely. He shifted his grip to Rush's hips, holding him against the wall, needing to maintain at least the illusion of control, knowing that Rush was more than capable of completely overwhelming his defenses if the man chose to do so.

But he didn't.

Instead, the scientist brought both hands up, one wrapping around Young's neck, the other resting palm against his cheek, his thumb grazing over Young's cheekbone as he pulled him in. His thoughts, his hands, the tilt of his head, and his aggressive, continuous, forward press of body and mind—combined into something that Young found both imperious and charming.

He had to fight to hold onto the slow slip of lips and tongue as their thoughts interleaved like alloyed metal.

Young could see into Rush more clearly than on any other occasion, as if somehow, for a brief moment, he had forced Destiny back. The scientist's mind was bright and transparent and wholly present and he could see—

God.

Young froze, subsuming his alarm beneath the slide of hand and mind as Rush surged forward, coming away from the wall, one hand wrapping around Young's lower back, pressing them together, his thoughts sharpening, clarifying, in a mental unveiling of his cognitive structure.

Young could see the disruption caused by whatever it was that Telford had done with Anubis' device intermingled with the grief of losing Gloria so profoundly that is was impossible to separate the two injuries.

He could see the damage caused by the interrogation—the _torture_ that the Nakai had put him through.

He could see the raw, fractured place where his own consciousness had broken away from Rush's during the time he had been pulled back to Earth with the communication stones.

And throughout his _entire _mind, Young could see signs of the strain that balancing the influence of the AI and Young caused, running like welded cracks through his damaged, fragile neural architecture.

In that moment, he understood. It had never been their _link_ that was broken.

It had been _Rush_.

The pain, the nausea, the vertigo, the terrible sensation of being torn apart—none of that had come from Young. It had all been translated across their link. If Young had _ever_ completely blocked, he would have realized as much immediately.

_It is the nature of psychic injury to have no insight into itself_.

He should have _checked_.

He should have _known_.

Rush could never have fixed their link.

But _he_ could.

With an instinctive urgency, Young poured his mental energy into that raw, injured place—the one place in Rush's mind that he could fix with his mere presence, reordering what had been disrupted, sealing what had been torn apart.

The aggressive press of Rush's thoughts and hands faded slightly and Young stepped forward again, pushing him against the wall as Rush's eyelids flickered, and his head tipped back against the bulkhead.

Could he tell what Young was doing?

The focus of his attention was difficult to pinpoint.

When Young had done all he could, he eased up on the physical and psychic pressure he was exerting on the other man, decelerating in an ending glide of lips and tongue.

They looked at each other.

Young stepped back.

"Shit," Young breathed. "I am, um—_really_ sorry about that. I don't know why—" he broke off in a tangle of indecision, uncertain of even where his own uncertainty lay.

Rush looked down and away, hiding an ephemeral smile that almost, _almost_ came off as shy before he brought it under control and shook his hair out of his eyes, turning it into something more confident, more amused, more practiced.

"You realize," Rush said slowly as he knelt to pick up his crutch, "that this confirms something I have long suspected."

"And what's that?" Young asked, with more than a little trepidation.

"You're an awful lot of work, colonel."

That surprised a short laugh out of Young. "Seriously, Rush—"

Rush cut him off with raised hand and a shake of the head. Slowly, his eyes fixed on Young, he reached into his jacket and pulled out the unopened carton of cigarettes from Telford. He held them out in a wordless offering.

Young drew the cigarettes from Rush's unresisting grip with a graze of fingertips.

"Rush—" he tried again, but the other man stepped around him heading toward the main corridor. He paused after a few steps, turning to look back at Young.

"Are you coming? I don't have all day, you know. I have things to do."

"Yeah," Young said weakly. "I'm coming."


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>It was almost twenty hundred hours. The overhead lighting had dimmed to its usual evening levels as Young and Rush walked wordlessly through the corridors. The track lighting at the bases of the walls flared in intensity as they passed, the subtle brightness perfectly keeping pace with them as it marked their path like a wave.<p>

Like a target.

The hollow echoing of their footsteps on the deck plating was briefly obscured as they passed the dull roar of conversation emanating from the open doorway of the observation deck, where those members of the crew who did not have anywhere else to be were exchanging digital music files, movies, books, and other items that they had requested from Earth.

For his own part, Young had requested nothing.

They had only just finished storing and distributing the entirety of the material that had come through the gate. Young and Rush had spent most of the afternoon trying to coordinate the organization and assembly of the medical and scientific equipment they had received from Earth.

Young had also been devoting a significant portion of his mental energy toward making sure that he and Rush crossed paths with Telford as little as possible.

All of the afternoon's activity had assisted his current mental campaign to _not_ dwell on how utterly untenable his present situation was.

He tried to avoid listing, but to no avail.

One—they were obviously being tracked in some manner by the Nakai. Two—the drones that had plagued them throughout this galaxy had a nasty habit of predicting their likely stopping points. Three—some unknown, seemingly ultra-advanced alien race had a habit of pulling them out of FTL and trying to trap them in phase shifted planets. Four—the AI clearly had an agenda, which, thus far, it had refused to share with him. Four point five—to what extent Rush was complicit in knowingly or unknowingly advancing this agenda was unclear. Five—Telford clearly _also_ had an unknown agenda. Five point five—To what extent Rush understood and or supported that agenda was unclear. Six—he was in an open conflict with the AI regarding whether or not Rush was going to return to Earth. Six point five—he was unclear on whether or not Rush really _wanted_ to return to Earth. Seven—Rush was a mess, and they needed him to keep the ship fully powered and everyone _alive_. Eight—

Damn it.

It had clearly been a really bad idea to do what he had done.

Hadn't it?

It wasn't clear-cut.

He'd made worse choices—that was certain.

But it wasn't very comforting considering his track record of shitty Ruch-centric decisions.

On one hand, Young was pretty sure that he and Rush did not need another complication in their working relationship. On the other hand, something extremely positive _had_ come out of the entire thing—namely the fact that he had been able to repair some of the damage that had been affecting their link.

He hadn't touched _anything_ in Rush's mind besides the area that had been broken when he had been pulled away by the communication stones, but he was fairly sure that it was that _particular_ injury that had been causing their problem.

Could he fix the rest of it?

Could he do it without the process being quite so—involved?

He had no idea.

_Rush_ certainly wasn't helping him sort any of this out.

The scientist's mind was a locked, foreign swirl, his thoughts half in Ancient, half in code. Not all of his thoughts were even _accessible_ to Young, as a consequence of his consciousness being partially outsourced to Destiny's CPU.

Young wondered how he appeared to Rush.

Horribly transparent, or equally opaque?

Rush's actions and general demeanor suggested the latter.

As Young walked beside the scientist toward the control interface room, trying to keep his surface thoughts focused on the logistics of the rest of their night, the thing that struck him most, the thing that he _couldn't get over_ was how _calmly_ Rush seemed to be taking the events of the past several hours—Telford's arrival on Destiny, the intense scrutiny he was likely to face from the new research team, not to mention what had happened in the hallway.

Young had _kissed_ him, for god's sake.

Had that been interpretable to Rush? Young was the one who'd done it—and he himself still wasn't sure how to _explain_ it, other than the fact that it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Rush—god, Rush was the kind of guy who took offense at the idea of _eating breakfast_. He was high strung about pretty much _everything_, the only exception being that he kept his head pretty well in the midst of crisis, which Young _still_ couldn't entirely wrap his mind around—but that wasn't the point. The point was that he had expected _some _kind of post make out freak out from the scientist.

None seemed to be forthcoming. Not even now, alone together as they were.

The only sign that anything had changed between them _at all_ was the way Rush reached down with his free hand to carefully pull the textbook that Young was carrying out of his grip before they rounded the door of the control interface room.

As they passed through the doorframe, Rush seemed to switch on the frenetic energy that Young had always associated with him. The scientist walked forward a few steps and slammed the book atop the monitor bank next to where Eli and Chloe were sitting, comparing their new iPod collections.

They both jumped as the book came down.

Rush raised his eyebrows at them.

"Physical chemistry, a molecular approach?" Eli asked dubiously, reading the title. "Congratulations. You win the award for 'most boring personal item of any crew member'. Also? That thing looks like more than five pounds."

"It's twelve pounds actually," Rush said imperiously, ignoring Eli's aggrieved look as he shook his hair back out of habit. "I have good news and bad news. Which would you prefer first?"

/Admit it,/ Young said. /You enjoy this kind of thing./

/I refuse to admit any such thing./

"The good news," Eli said, looking even _more_ aggrieved.

/Doesn't mean it's not true./ Young shot back.

"The good news is that your horrendous deficiencies in quantum mechanics are about to be remedied. Neither of you has any kind of background in the field and it's absolutely essential. For everything. So. Chapters one and two. Day after tomorrow."

They stared at him.

"The good news is that you're giving us _homework_? On top of everything else? That's the _good news_?" Eli looked insulted. "And why did you have to bring this thing through? Couldn't some overworked little SGC intern have scanned it for you? Or, I don't know, found a textbook on a _CD_?"

"It's hardly the same," Rush said disdainfully.

Chloe had opened the book and she looked up at Rush.

"This is yours?" she asked.

"_I_ certainly don't need it," Rush snapped, looking away.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

"The bad news," Rush continued, "thankfully applies only to Eli."

"Yes," Eli repeated. "_Thankfully_."

"You've been assigned as the liaison to Telford's research team," Young said, from the position he had taken up next to Rush.

"Yay."

"This does not relieve you of any of your normal science team responsibilities," Rush said.

"Are you _kidding_ me? I'm supposed to do all the stuff I normally do, plus help Telford, plus teach myself quantum mechanics?"

Rush shrugged, unimpressed.

"There's a briefing at oh seven hundred tomorrow morning, in the control interface room," Young said. "Telford expects you to be there."

"Oh seven hundred? Are you _serious_? I don't start before nine o'clock. This is a central tenet of the Church of Wallace, okay? I'm going to have to take this to Wray."

"I think it could be very useful for you to attend this briefing," Young said, giving Eli a significant look from beneath his lowered brow.

Eli sighed. "Right."

Rush rolled his eyes. "Yes yes, very subtle, both of you," he said dismissively. He gave Young a sidelong look. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

/Stay out of trouble,/ Young projected, giving Rush a forbidding look before he turned and left the control interface room.

He walked ten feet down the hall and into a small adjacent conference room.

During Rush's briefing with the science team, Young had arranged for TJ, Scott and Greer to meet him for an informal conference in the adjacent room. It was close enough that there was no possibility that it would stress their link, but still allowed at least for the illusion that he and Rush could operate independently. Although—

Young considered it very likely that the radius of their link had improved drastically as a result of what he had done a few hours ago.

That brought with it a whole different set of problems.

Namely that if Rush had the capability of wandering about the ship on his own, especially at night, he had the potential to get into an almost infinite amount of trouble. With the AI, with Telford—and Young wouldn't be able to do a damn thing about it except to pick up the pieces afterward.

It wasn't like he could put a twenty-four hour watch on the man.

Could he?

Well, he supposed he _could_. But he was entirely certain that would destroy Rush's willingness to cooperate with him.

When he entered the room, his two senior officers plus Greer were waiting for him.

He nodded as he joined them at the table.

"Where's Rush?" was the first thing TJ asked.

"Next door, with the science team," Young said shortly.

Scott's eyes flicked from TJ to Young, finally fixing him with a quiet, unreadable look.

"This meeting," Young said, "is meant to be informal, and its subject is Colonel Telford."

"Great," Greer murmured, leaning back in his chair.

Young raised his eyebrows, and the sergeant straightened.

"Though there's been some confusion in the past about the exact chain of command for the Icarus Project, it's been clarified by General O'Neil that on Destiny, Telford will be reporting to _me_ and not the other way around. Unfortunately, however, as Telford outranks everyone on board with the exception of myself, this makes him my new second." He paused, shooting Scott a quick glance.

"I figured as much," Scott said, with a half shrug.

"What I need from the three of you, and from everyone else, is both cooperation and _respect_ when dealing with Colonel Telford. The man has already made the case that he should be in command of this mission, and I don't want to give him a reason to stage a bureaucratic coup. Got it?"

He got reluctant nods from around the table..

"There's one area, however, in which Telford should get _no_ cooperation from _any_ of the crew." Young paused.

They waited respectfully, though he was certain that at least TJ and Greer knew the direction he was going to take this.

"Rush is not to be alone with Colonel Telford or any member of Telford's team. You're going to need to watch for this _all the time_, but primarily if I become injured or incapacitated for some reason. I don't care what Rush says, I don't care what Telford says, they're not to be alone together. Futhermore, I don't want Telford pulling Rush out of the neural interface chair. If, for some reason, I was unable to pull him out and it was absolutely necessary that someone else do it, TJ is next in line. Understood?"

He got a surprised look from TJ and nods from the other two.

"Just to clarify, sir," Scott said, hesitantly, "are we protecting Rush _from_ Colonel Telford, or are we trying to prevent Rush and Telford from—implementing some plan together? I think we'd be more effective if we knew."

"Both," Young said shortly.

"Both?" Scott echoed.

Young looked at them, teetering on the edge of explaining the entire situation.

"The more we know, the more we can help you," TJ said quietly.

Young sighed, his thoughts brushing briefly against Rush's consciousness. The other man was half listening to Eli giving a rundown on what they had learned from going through the collection of sensor data obtained from the third obelisk planet. The other half of his attention was focused on the AI.

"You need to work on splitting your focus and sustaining your attention in multiple avenues at once," Jackson was saying, arms crossed. "I'm not talking about the human conception of 'multi-tasking,' in which your focus is rapidly redirects during ongoing tasks. I'm talking about running complex executable programs that require continuous live input at the same time. True parallel processing. You've got to be able to split your attention at least four ways. You're having a difficult time with _two_."

God _damn_ it.

That decided it.

He withdrew before either Rush or the AI had detected his presence.

"Okay," Young said. "Here's the story. Although Rush was the chief scientist for Icarus, what none of us knew was that he was _also_ the chief scientist for another project, run by Colonel Telford, regarding ascension."

He paused, taking in TJ's raised eyebrows, the contained energy in Greer's quiet pose. This was news to them as well as to Scott.

"The project was _related_ to the Icarus project, because Dr. Jackson had uncovered some Ancient text that mentioned the ninth chevron address and how, in order to fully access what lay beyond it, one had to have made significant progress along the path toward ascension."

They were silent, watching him.

"Using different tissue banks, Colonel Telford screened the general population for someone who had the Ancient gene as well as a genetic profile that most closely matched the what we have on file for the Ancient genome. That's how they found Rush. Jackson arranged a joint appointment, and he started to work on the ninth chevron. At the same time, he and Telford started to work on modifying Rush's brain so that he could access whatever lay _beyond_ the ninth chevron."

"My god," TJ said, looking appalled.

"Actually, this explains a lot," Greer commented dryly, crossing his arms.

"No kidding," Young said, "though it's my impression that he was very much a pain in the ass _before_ they started messing around with his mind. During an attempt to use some machinery discovered in one of Anubis' labs, Telford pushed things too far."

"How far is 'too far'?" TJ asked sharply.

"They changed his neural circuitry using a device that I think was an extremely primitive version of the neural interface chair on this ship. Rather than bolts, it used some kind of gel with electrical conductance properties. They tried it and it worked. They got the changes they wanted, but for a reason I still don't understand, Telford held Rush down underneath the stuff."

"As in—" Greer said, breaking off.

"As in drowning him. In some kind of gel. Yeah."

"What the _fuck_?" Greer exploded.

"Clearly it didn't have that effect though," TJ pointed out. "Maybe he wasn't trying to kill him."

"Yeah," Young said, rubbing a hand across his jaw. "That's what Rush keeps saying. It scared the hell out of him though. I _know_ it did. Camile told me that he was unconscious for six days after they brought him back to Earth." He paused, shrugging. "Telford seems to think he should be directly credited with Rush's ability to crack the code and access Destiny's systems. Maybe he's right about that. Maybe that gel cemented whatever changes they had succeeded in making. Maybe it changed him further. I don't know."

"How did you find all of this out, sir?" Scott asked. "Did Rush _tell_ you?"

"No," Young said. "Not exactly. When Rush came on board Destiny," he continued, avoiding Scott's question for the moment in order to stick to the linear narrative he had been piecing together over the past several weeks, "he didn't want to sit in the control interface chair. I'm still not sure _why_ exactly." Young crossed his arms, trying to keep a lid on the frustration and anxiety that he was feeling. "But he told me that he was afraid of what would happen to the crew if he did. Specifically _him_."

"So he built software buffers to run between himself and Destiny whenever he sat in the chair," TJ said softly. "Until the Nakai boarded the ship, and he didn't have the time."

Young nodded. "He woke Destiny up. The lights began changing for him. Doors came open. Finally, he was trapped into sitting in the control interface chair." Young looked over at Scott. "When that happened, he was genetically modified to be more than sixty percent Ancient using a viral vector introduced to his system by the chair. He also became mentally linked to Destiny."

Scott managed to hang on to his neutral expression. "Yup," he said. "I remember that meeting."

"He became unable to get out of the chair on his own," Young continued quietly. "Someone had to pull him out. When I did so, it also formed a link between my mind and his."

"_That_, I don't remember being mentioned," Scott said, his eyes flicking to TJ and Greer, taking in the lack of surprise on either of their faces.

"Yeah," Young replied. "A lot of this has been need-to-know."

Scott nodded. "I can see the reasons for keeping it that way, but I have to tell you that most of the crew has noticed something going on. There are a lot of theories going around."

"I'm sure," Young said, sighing.

"So how does Telford figure into all of this?" Greer asked.

"Rush is still changing," Young admitted, hooking a hand over his shoulder to massage the back of his neck. "Destiny, the AI, whatever—seems to be trying to facilitate this change. It's working toward some goal that it refuses to share with me." Young paused for a moment. "Telford's mission was and is to unlock the full potential of Destiny. To make sure, from a scientific standpoint, that this mission is not a waste."

They looked at him, waiting silently.

"So," he continued finally, "I think it's more than possible that Telford is going to identify and likely facilitate the goals of the AI."

"Why not let him?" Scott asked. "Just to play devil's advocate."

"Because I have no idea what those goals are. I assume that I'm not being told because I'm not going to like them. Plus," he said quietly, looking away, "it's killing Rush."

There was silence in the room.

"It's killing Rush," Young said, his voice stronger, "but Rush himself doesn't seem to give a damn. And since without him we're all going to be incredibly screwed, I'm trying to keep him alive for as long as possible."

"Understood," Scott said quietly.

"Ideally," Young said, "I'd like to prevent him from so much as _talking_ to Telford. The two of them together are a whole mess of trouble. I don't trust Telford not to push Rush, and I don't trust Rush not to just completely fuck himself up for the sake of his own intellectual curiosity. His conception of himself is not normal. Or accurate."

He hadn't intended to say that last part. TJ looked at him, her eyes unreadable.

"I'm sorry I left you out of the loop for so long," Young said quietly. "There have been a lot of complicating factors, and—" he broke off, bringing a hand up, making an empty gesture.

"I think you would get a lot of support from the crew," Scott said quietly. "More than you think."

"Yeah," Young said, rubbing his jaw. "Right up to the point where Telford stages a literal coup." He smiled wryly.

Scott gave him a faint smile in return.

"Sergeant," Young said, turning toward Greer. "I need a word with you in private."

Scott and TJ got to their feet. TJ caught his eye and said, "bring him by later tonight. We'll start the antivirals."

Young nodded as he watched her walk out of the room.

Greer said nothing, just watched him quietly from across the table. Young leaned forward, resting his forearms on the planar metal surface in front of him.

"I haven't had a chance to thank you," Young began. "You've displayed unfailing bravery, good judgment, and compassion in the past several weeks."

"Thank you, sir," Greer said, his eyes briefly flicking away and back.

"If I had the authority to promote you, I absolutely would do it in a heartbeat. As it is, I asked Wray to submit a request for your recent actions to be evaluated at command headquarters. We'll see what they say."

Greer nodded. "Thank you, sir," he said again.

"Don't thank me," Young murmured. "You know, Rush suggested I make you my second."

Greer smiled, shaking his head once. "That man has _no_ understanding of the chain of command."

"I've given up," Young admitted.

"I don't blame you."

"Anyway," Young said quietly. "My point is that he likes you. He tolerates you more than almost anyone else and I have the feeling that's because you seem to understand him pretty well."

"I don't know about that," Greer said neutrally.

They looked at each other in silence for a moment.

"I need a favor," Young said.

"Name it," Greer replied.

He couldn't. He didn't want to.

"There's a certain—independence of thought," Young said, "that you see in exceptional leaders at the SGC. Having that in isolation though—that's not enough."

Greer looked at him, eyebrows faintly raised.

"You also need loyalty. You need excellent judgment."

"I'd agree with that," Greer said guardedly.

"You have all of these qualities," Young said. "I've watched them develop over the past two years."

Greer said nothing.

"I'm telling you these things," Young said, pressing his fingertips into the table, "because I want you to understand why I'm asking this of _you_, and not anyone else."

Greer nodded.

"I need help," Young said. "You've seen _some_ of what it's like—the ship is fucking with him, fucking with his mind, with how he _is_, but he didn't _want_ this, he couldn't have, at least not completely, because he didn't sit in the chair until he was _forced_ into it—" he broke off. "Telford is going to push him. Telford is going to push him straight into whatever it is that the damn ship is trying to do."

"Agreed," Greer said.

"If Telford pulls him out of that chair," Young said, "I think they might end up linked."

"Telford will not pull him out of that chair," Greer said quietly.

Young looked at him.

"It's not going to happen," Greer said, his voice flat. Final.

Young nodded. "I'll stand behind any action you might take to prevent that outcome," he said quietly. "_Any_ action."

"Understood," Greer said.

They sat in silence, the air between them heavy with the tacit implication behind Young's statement.

"I assume he doesn't know about this—arrangement?" Greer asked.

"No," Young said, his thoughts flashing sideways to the science briefing for an instant in confirmation before he withdrew again, unnoticed. "He doesn't."

"How does that work?" Greer asked.

"We think very differently," Young said.

"No shit," Greer said, with an innocent tilt of his head.

Young shot him a wry look. "Plus—he's very—" Young opened his hand. "He has a tendency to be pathologically focused but with a low threshold for redirecting his attention."

"Want to bottom line that one?"

"I'm usually less interesting than whatever he's doing, and he's distractible."

"Not always," Greer said.

"No," Young agreed giving him a sharp look. "Not always. Speaking of which," he stood, inclining his head toward the door. Greer followed suit. They nodded at each other as they parted ways in the corridor.

When he reentered the control interface room, Volker was in the midst of some kind of presentation that seemed to involve the cosmic background radiation.

Young leaned against the wall in the back of the room, remaining as unobtrusive as possible.

Rush, unsurprisingly, wasn't even bothering to _look_ at Volker. His gaze was directed out into the empty air at his left.

"In all the sensor data we combed through, there was nothing that seemed to correlate with the instant we were pulled out of FTL, so then we pooled all of the raw data from the readings we took during the subsequent time following FTL drop out, which for the first planet, really was quite extensive—"

Young's eyes snapped over to Eli as the young man ripped a piece of paper out of his new notebook and abruptly crumpled it into a ball.

Volker stopped talking, raising his eyebrows as Eli fired the paper at Rush.

Without looking, Rush's left hand snapped up and he caught the paper, not even pausing as he chucked it directly back at Eli.

"Holy crap," Volker said, clearly impressed.

Slowly, Rush turned to look at Eli, leveling a glare at him that looked like it could liquefy lead.

"Unacceptable," Rush snapped.

"Not sure if you were listening," Eli said softly. "This is _important_." He gave Rush a significant look, gently lifting his eyebrows as he inclined his head in Volker's direction. "He found something in the CBR."

"Continue," Rush said, turning away from Eli to look at Volker.

"We didn't find anything that correlated with us dropping out of FTL, but there was something that correlated with the points in time when the obelisks emitted the, um, creepy column of light. It generated an electromagnetic field precisely contemporaneous with the appearance of an unusual pattern in the CBR."

/CBR?/ Young projected at Rush.

/Cosmic Background Radiation. Use those deductive reasoning skills of yours./

Volker clicked a button. Projected in glowing relief in midair was a pattern—bright, disc-shaped, and familiar.

The sudden surge of recognition and interest in his mind immediately caught Rush's attention and he turned, looking back at Young, curiosity evident in his expression.

"You've seen this before?" he asked.

The science team looked askance at him.

The man could just _not keep a low profile to save his life_.

Before Young could reply, Park cut in, slamming her laptop shut as she stood. "You guys. I can't take this anymore. What the _heck_ is going on here?" Her gaze flicked nervously back and forth between Rush and Young several times before she screwed up her courage and asked quickly, "are you talking to each other _in your heads_?"

The room was silent for a moment.

"Obviously," Rush said.

"Oh," Park said, weakly.

"Continue," Rush said to Volker.

Volker stared at him. "_Continue_?" he echoed. "What the _hell_ is going on with you, _Rush_?"

/I think you'd better explain,/ Young shot at him. /I just brought Scott up to speed./

Rush sighed, bringing two fingers to his temple, he motioned back and forth between himself and Young. "Me, the colonel." He switched directions, motioning between his temple and the empty air. "Me, the ship. Both linked. Are you people satisfied?"

/That was probably the _least_ informative explanation I've ever heard you give./

/Then your memory is defective./

"No," Brody said flatly.

/They deserve more from you,/ Young snapped at him.

/Doesn't _everyone_?/

"If you want to find out more, join Colonel Telford's research team," Rush snapped. "He's going to be studying all of this."

"Please _don't_ do that, actually," Young said, from the back of the room. They all turned to look at him as he pushed away from the wall to walk forward, into their midst. "Telford knows about the connection between Rush and the ship, because he's been briefed by Carter and O'Neill, but he doesn't know about the connection between Rush and myself, and I'd rather it stayed that way."

"Good luck with that," Volker said, looking dubiously at Rush. "The entire crew has figured out that something's up with you two. Telford seems like a pretty sharp guy. You're going to have to keep a much lower profile."

"We're working on it," Young said.

"I think _you're_ doing fine," Volker said mildly, in Young's direction.

Rush narrowed his eyes. "Continue," he snapped. "Eli can fill you in on the rest later. _Continue_."

There was a desperate note in the scientist's voice that everyone seemed to immediately pick up on.

Volker, who was in a position to direct the trajectory of the meeting if he chose to stop presenting, looked at Rush, clearly undecided about whether to continue questioning him further. After a brief interval, the other man nodded.

Young could feel Rush unsuccessfully try to mute some of the relief that was flooding through their link.

"Okay," Volker said, "continuing as requested. What you're looking at here is a temperature modulation in the CBR. One of these has appeared exactly at the moment of initiation of the beam of light produced by the three obelisks we've encountered. Moreover, if you render our readings of the CBR in three dimensions—" he paused, clicking a button and the two dimensional midair screen shifted to a three dimensional projection of the planet, the obelisk, and Destiny.

"Well, I think just showing you is going to be the most effective. This is an animated time lapse of the readings we took."

Volker clicked a button and, as Young watched, a beam of white light shot out of the blue and green world they had recently escaped from. He watched as Destiny started to slowly be drawn in toward the planet.

"Now the planet is starting to go out of phase," Volker said. "I'm rendering this as having it fade out because if it progressed sufficiently, the planet _would_ disappear as far as we were concerned. Watch what starts to happen to the CBR."

The portion of the planet nearest the obelisk began to fade, creating an expanding crater of phase-shifting matter—the center point of which was the obelisk. Young saw the uniform, semi-transparent yellow glow of the cosmic background radiation begin to penetrate the space being liberated as matter went out of phase. As it did so, the glow of the CBR changed in color from yellow to red.

"The CBR is heating up locally in the vicinity of the planet, forming a catenary surface of increased temperature as it advances, which, when you render it two dimensionally, looks like a disc."

"Excellent work, Mr. Volker," Rush said absently, looking at the image with narrowed eyes, his thoughts blindingly fast, paralleling each other in rapidly branching algorithmic trees.

Volker stared at Rush in shock.

"Dang it," Eli said. "Where's a kino when you need one?"

"In terms of what this means," Volker said recovering his equilibrium, "your guess is good as mine. Or actually, probably better."

For a moment, no one spoke.

"So does this have any relationship to this mysterious pattern in the CBR that is somehow related to Destiny's mission?" Young asked the room.

"Possibly," Eli said carefully into the silence, his eyes flicking sideways at Rush. "It's similar. It's kind of like, um, what you might predict to see when D-branes of the multiverse collide."

Rush shot Eli a sharp look.

Brody whistled soft and low, locking eyes with Volker.

"D-branes of the multiverse?" Young said. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Yeah, you're so right about that. I meant _E-branes_."

Young stared at him.

"That was a joke," Eli explained, waving his hand in a circular motion. "You know? Like a different—you know what? Nevermind. Sorry. D-branes are a way to describe the idea that the four dimensional universe—you know, the three spatial dimensions plus time, exists on a membrane-type thing that itself exists in multidimensional space called 'the bulk'."

Young noted that Rush was smiling faintly as he watched Eli.

"So according to M-theory, D-branes exist side by side with each other, each potentially comprising an observable 4-D universe, plus or minus small spatial dimensions rolled up inside. The thing is, if this is true, we, by our nature, can't make it off our D-brane. So we can never see the universe in its true, multidimensional form. For a long time, though, this has been a pretty untestable theory. But people have predicted the energy signature one would see in the CBR if and when two D-branes of the multiverse collided, and it is supposed to look an awful lot like this."

"Damn," Brody said quietly.

"I'm with you," Volker agreed.

Park had her hand over her mouth.

"_What_?" Young snapped at the room in general, mainly out of habit. Already, in the back of his mind, he felt the answer forming, coalescing out of his own unconscious expertise.

"The obelisks may be a bridge between parallel universes," Chloe said into the ensuing quiet.

"Interesting," Rush said, raising his eyebrows as he locked eyes with Eli.

"So Destiny's mission has something to do with the multiverse?" Young asked, his eyes flicking back and forth between Rush and Eli.

"I'd say that's a distinct possibility," Volker commented. "The whole idea of travelling to the literal edge of the universe has never really sat well with me. From an astrophysics perspective, it really doesn't make sense. I mean, space is infinite. That's been pretty well established."

Rush looked over at Volker, his eyebrows raising briefly before his gaze flicked out into the empty air.

"So if you were going to guess what Destiny's mission was," Young said grimly, knowing he was treading on dangerous ground as he looked around at the science team, "what would you say?"

/What are you _doing_?/ Rush snapped, his attention suddenly centered on Young.

/What does it _look_ like? I'm having a discussion with the science team. If you and the AI don't like it, you can get out./

"We pretty much know what Destiny's mission is, right?" Park said uncertainly. "It's to travel toward and find this mysterious pattern in the CBR. To study it."

"It must be more than that," Brody said. "Why were the Ancients trying to reach Destiny as they were being wiped out by the plague? They must have thought coming here would help them."

"A lot of energy would be liberated during collision of adjacent branes," Volker added. "A _lot_."

At the back of his mind, Young could feel Rush's heart rate increase. On the metal surface of the table, his hands curled into fists.

"What would happen if we waited for the collision to complete and then purposefully flew _into_ the advancing phase wave, do you think?" Chloe asked.

"I don't like the sound of that," Brody said darkly. "That seed ship we found got trapped in a planet."

"Maybe they didn't know what they were doing," Chloe said. "They clearly misinterpreted the purpose of these planets. Maybe they're gateways. Maybe we're supposed to actively _use_ one."

Eli remained silent, watching Rush.

"Rush," Young snapped.

"Pass," Rush said tightly.

"Pass?" Young repeated, his voice dangerous. "You don't get to _pass_. Not on this one. What happens, _hypothetically_, if one were to fly into the advancing phase wave?"

Through their link, Young could feel the AI beginning to tighten down on Rush's consciousness. Young matched it, step for step, never pushing farther than it did, but maintaining his own rigid hold on the part of Rush's mind that was accessible to him.

This was the closest he'd been to any kind of answer and he wasn't about to let it go.

He _couldn't_, in good conscience, let it go.

Rush's breathing was becoming uneven. "Can you please _not—_"

"What happens?" Young said quietly, looking at him intently.

"Um, what are you _doing_?" Eli asked, his voice hard-edged.

"Plures res es validus evulsum," Rush said, clenching and unclenching his hands.

"What the hell did he just say?" Young snapped at the room.

"Many things can happen," Park said, in a strained whisper.

"That's not an answer," Young snapped at Rush.

Rush was staring intently at his hands, his expression twisting, his breathing ragged.

"I _said_," Eli repeated, getting to his feet. "What. Are. You. Doing."

"I can't—" Rush breathed.

"Yes you can," Young murmured, extending a hand palm outward in Eli's direction, halting the younger man's approach. "You _can_." He stayed steady. "I'm just asking you a hypothetical question. That's all. Figure out how to answer it."

"I—" Rush said, clearly trying to work his way around the restrictions that the AI was imposing. "The crew—the crew will be all right."

"So that _is_ the plan?" Young said intently. "To try and fly into one of these things?"

He felt the AI ratchet its control up a notch, and Rush froze, his hands stopping their rhythmic clenching and unclenching.

Young felt a hand fall on his shoulder.

"Hey," Volker said. "Colonel. Let it go. Just—let it go. We'll figure it out for you. Maybe not as fast, but—"

Young clenched his jaw looked at Rush's blank, horrified expression

He released him, feeling the AI let him go in the same moment.

Rush jerked, his muscles clenching as he recovered his ability to move. He very nearly fell out of his chair, but Young and Volker managed to grab and steady him as he pitched to the side.

"Oh my god," Park whispered.

Rush took a deep breath, tipping his head back slightly as he did so. Young felt a headache slam into place behind the scientist's eyes as well as the sensation of a thin trickle of blood running down the back of the other man's throat.

Chloe slipped in between the rest of the science team and pulled a tissue out of her pocket, handing it to Rush. How she knew that he needed it, Young wasn't sure.

Wordlessly, Rush took it from her.

"What he _hell_ was that?" Eli snapped.

"Don't worry about it, Eli," Rush said tiredly, trying to shrug away from the grip that both Young and Volker still had on him.

"No," Eli said, his eyes fixed on Young. "I want to know _exactly_ what you just did to him. Because I _read everything_ in the Ancient database pertaining to the chair in my freaking free time, such as it is, and it didn't say a _damn_ _thing_ about anything even _remotely_ like what we just saw. So yeah. You can just explain it to us. To all of us. _Right now_. Because from an outsider's perspective it looked pretty _messed up_."

/Fuck you, anyway,/ Rush projected at him unsteadily. /You couldn't have waited until _later_ to fight with the AI? You have to do it in front of the _entire science team_?/

"Eli," Young said, raising his hands, "the AI is preventing Rush from telling me what the nature of Destiny's mission is."

"Then maybe you _shouldn't ask him about it_," Eli said darkly, "if its only way to deal with you is by messing him up so much that he can't even _talk_. I can't believe that you had nothing to do with the freezing and the staring into space, and the distressed—you know." Eli held his hands up, clenching and unclenching them a few times.

"Eli," Rush said. "Stop. It's fine."

"Yup, you're fine. You're _obviously_ so, _so_ fine. I'm convinced. How about you guys?" he turned to the rest of the science team, who all seemed to have the same locked expressions, the same tightness around the eyes.

"Look," Rush said, crumpling up Chloe's tissue and tilting his head forward, doing his best to sharpen his tone, but not quite able to rid himself of that uncharacteristic vagueness that Young _hated_. "It is what it is. Colonel Young is doing his best. What you just saw wasn't his fault. Let's just—leave it at that."

Rush stood, and they backed away, giving him space. "Briefing tomorrow, usual time." He looked over at Eli as he picked up his crutch. "You're not excused, no matter what Telford says."

"Rush—" Eli began.

Rush shook his head and turned away, heading toward the door.

After a few seconds, Young turned to follow him, leaving the science team staring after them in a silent, huddled mass.

/So that did not go well,/ Young projected, as he reached over to steady Rush as they walked.

/Noticed that, did you?/ Rush said acidly, pulling away. /I do not, however, blame _myself_. Is it too much to ask that if you feel the need to fucking attempt to extract information out of my mind while simultaneously battling the AI that you at least _wait_ until we are in _private_ so that it doesn't look like I'm having a _psychotic break_?/

There was a long silence between them, during which Rush seemed to calm down, his thoughts sharpening nearly back to his usual baseline. A headache still coiled behind the scientist's eyes and Young could feel through their link that fighting so intensively with the AI had exhausted the other man.

/Sorry,/ Young projected back finally. /I realize that it's hard on you./

/It's _hard _on me? Do you have any idea what you're doing when you set yourself against it like that? Any idea _at all_?/

/No,/ Young admitted.

/I have a limited amount of space to store information,/ Rush snapped. /The AI starts annexing what it thinks _you're_ going to try to access, and blocks _both_ of us out of huge networks of information by taking up that space _itself_. In my fucking_ brain_. _ You_ instinctively then do the same god damned thing, which leaves me with almost fucking _nothing_ to work with when I try to talk to you. As the whole thing escalates, I don't even have a fucking clue _who you are_ anymore, and _then_ I stop forming memories of the whole thing. That's the last thing to fucking go. God. I wish it was first./

The surge of horror in Young's thoughts was so intense that it actually elicited a faint, reflexive wave of reassurance from Rush despite the other man's irritation.

Their footsteps echoed in the empty hallway.

/But you're fine now,/ Young projected back.

/I suppose so. I know my goddamned _name_ if that's what you mean./

/Jesus Christ, Rush. Why didn't you tell me this _the first time it happened_?/

/Because I didn't think you were going to be making a _habit _of it./

"This is so _fucked up_," Young whispered.

"Don't fucking flagellate yourself about it," Rush said, sounding annoyed. "It's not like you can't do it, just pick your battles, please. I'd like to finish out with at least _some_ of my cognitive capacity intact."

/_Finish out_?/

/Never mind. Where the fuck are we going anyway?/ Rush asked, changing the subject quickly.

/The infirmary./

/Why? It's not like Tamara can do anything about this./

/No, actually, she wants to talk to you about starting the antivirals./

Rush grimaced. /Not sure how well that's going to work out./

/The AI okayed it./

/Are you serious?/

/Mostly. It said it was acceptable for me to try to prolong your survival./

Oddly, Rush seemed to find this amusing. He half smiled, ducking his head slightly, his shorter hair falling across his forehead, the tips of it hitting his glasses but not concealing his eyes.

/This is _funny_ to you?/ Young snapped in irritated disbelief.

/Aspects of it,/ Rush replied evasively. /When do you have these—_debates_ with it?/

/Mostly when you're passed out from exhaustion./

/Ah./

/So,/ Young said, his own thoughts concealed beneath as much ephemera as he could pile on top of them, /we need to talk./

/That's all you _ever_ want to do. About what? Our poorly concealed synchrony in the mess a few days ago? Colonel Telford's arrival? How the Nakai are tracking us? What happens the next time we get pulled out of FTL? I've got an idea about that actually, I think we can force an intergalactic jump earlier than we had initially planned without altering our planned trajectory too much—/

/Rush,/ Young interrupted forcefully. /Stop being obstructive./

/Fine. Obviously you're referring to what happened earlier. I'll lay it out for you. You kissed me. I kissed you back. First, there's nothing that fucking _mysterious_ about the thing, people do it all the time. I'm not sure what you think there is to discuss. Second, it changes nothing./

Holy shit.

_That_? _That_ was his reaction?

/Okay,/ Young said slowly, trying to gather his thoughts.

It was obvious that Rush had _no idea_ that Young had not only seen the wreck that was his mind, but had also been able to repair, at least to some degree, the damage to their link that had resulted when Young had been pulled back to Earth with the communication stones.

Rush was wrong.

It didn't change 'nothing.'

It changed _everything_.

"Rush," he said slowly, pulling his thoughts away from the scientist as much as he could without impacting either of them.

Something in his voice or his mind put Rush on edge.

The other man stopped in the middle of the corridor, turning abruptly to face Young. "If you think," Rush hissed at him, "that what happened earlier was somehow more significant than _merging consciousnesses_, or _sharing thoughts_, or having you _rip_ my mind out of the ship, or fucking _surrendering almost all of my cognitive capacit_y so that you can have a showdown with the goddamned AI whenever you feel like it, then you are _mistaken_."

Young said nothing.

"You think you fucking _feel_ something for me? I should very much expect that you do, as we've been sharing thoughts for the past six weeks or so. But this is an artificial system that we're existing in, here, and it's _not_ _sustainable_ so I suggest that you try to ignore whatever it is that you _think_ you're feeling so that you can do your goddamn job in a manner that is not horrifically compromised."

"God, you're a lot of work," Young said, through clenched teeth.

"You're needlessly complicating things for yourself. And for me."

"Bullshit," Young whispered.

"It's not. It's responsible," Rush replied quietly. "We don't need another connection. We have _enough_."

"We do. We need it. We need it if I'm going to win out against the AI."

"You," Rush said mercilessly, "are _never_ going to win out against the AI. Not in the way you want."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a statement of fact. All you're going to accomplish is tearing yourself apart against it as you destroy _my mind_. So just stop. This is difficult enough for me as it is." Rush looked away, his expression pained.

They were silent for a moment.

"I trust the AI," Rush said quietly, "but I can't know," he broke off, looking back at Young his eyes dark and intolerable, "I can't truly, objectively _know_ how honorable its intentions are because fundamentally, _I'm not separate from it_. Not anymore. Do you understand what that means?"

Young was clenching his jaw so hard that he thought his teeth might crack.

"It means," Rush said, with a gentle relentlessness, "that you're the last line of defense for this crew, and the possibility exists that you won't just have to leave me behind. The possibility exists that you may have to kill me to protect them. And even now, I don't know if you could do it."

"I don't think the AI would let me."

"I told you what to do," Rush said softly.

The CPU.

Shit.

This was _not_ the conversation he had wanted to have.

"Why did it let you tell me _that_, but not anything about the _mission_?" Young asked, shutting his eyes briefly.

"That was one of the conditions that it agreed to in order to gain my assistance," Rush said, his voice dark and smooth.

"You're not even _trying_ to survive this," Young said quietly.

"Don't be an idiot," Rush snapped. "Why the hell do you think I'm taking the fucking antivirals? Why do you think I walk around feeling pure fucking wrecked when I could be getting energy from the ship?"

"I think you're doing it to make me feel better," Young said, his voice strained.

Rush looked at him for a long moment and said nothing.

"I fixed our link," Young whispered. "I'm almost sure I did."

"_What_?" Rush whispered back.

"In the hallway."

"I don't believe it," Rush murmured.

Suddenly, his eyes flicked out into the empty air and he stepped back from Young abruptly.

"Telford," Rush murmured quietly, then turned and started down the hallway, again heading toward the infirmary.

Young caught up with him after a few steps, just as the man in question rounded a corner several yards in front of them, a stack of files in his hand. He was clearly surprised to see them together.

Had the AI warned Rush that he was coming?

"Dr. Rush," the other man said, his dark eyes unreadable. "I was just looking for you."

"Colonel Telford," Rush said coolly. "How can I help you?"

"I was hoping that you could clarify some of the information that Colonel Carter provided for me regarding the nature of your link with Destiny."

"Unfortunately, now is not a convenient time for me," Rush said, and god, he sounded _tired_.

"Why?" Telford said bluntly. "What are you doing?"

"I have another meeting."

"At twenty-two hundred hours?" Telford shot back skeptically. "I know exactly what you're doing. I'm not going to let you railroad me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, colonel. I have a meeting with Lieutenant Johansen regarding a piece of Ancient technology—"

"Bullshit," Telford said.

Young stepped forward. "You're out of line, David," he growled.

"Are you _kidding _me, Everett? This is ridiculous."

Abruptly, Rush's free hand came up, sharp and precise, as his head snapped unerringly to focus on a point somewhere to the left of Telford. "Quiet," he snapped at them. His mind was a mess of discordant images—the molten blue of heated naquada, the sound of a sea bell echoing over uneven streets, the shimmering of the event horizon, the unflowering of a trinium iris. Rush turned, reversing direction, his limp barely noticeable as his mind drew instinctively closer to the ship and adrenaline flooded his bloodstream.

Young and Telford locked eyes for a moment.

Then, they were both right behind him.

There was a pressure building in Rush's mind as he worked to suppress something.

/What's going on?/ Young shot at Rush.

Rush didn't answer, but he didn't have to, because almost immediately, Young could see for himself.

They burst through the doorway to the gate room to see the symbols lit up, and the gate already rotating.

"What the _hell_?" Telford said.

"Someone's dialing in," Rush said darkly.

"Shut it down," Young snapped at him.

"I will," Rush said. "But I want to see if I can tell where it's coming from."

Young grimaced. "Is that a good idea?"

"All I need is about two tenths of a second."

"Rush," Young said warningly.

"Do it," Telford said grimly. "We need to know."

The gate connected with the sound of rushing water, settled into an event horizon, and then almost immediately went dark as Rush narrowed his eyes and, with an abrupt mental effort, pulled power away from the gate, routing it into other systems. The lights in the gateroom flared briefly as he did so, and Destiny loomed threateningly at the edges of his consciousness for a moment before Rush turned it away with miscellaneous tasks and Young yanked him back.

"So," Telford said expectantly, when it became clear after almost a minute that Rush wasn't going to say anything without being prompted. "What did you get?"

"I got an approximate spatial relationship, which is consistent with the connecting gate lying somewhere along our previous trajectory. Distance is harder to gauge than direction. The fact that we didn't drop out of FTL is interesting, it implies that we're not being dialed from a local address—" he broke off abruptly, looking up at the dark curve of the stargate.

It lit up and began to spin again.

"This is not good," Young said quietly.

"No," Rush said, grimly. "It's not."

For the second time, he drained power to the gate—the lights flaring, Destiny pressing in on his mind more insistently than the last time. In his peripheral vision, Young was aware of the AI, manifesting as Jackson, standing next to them with its arms crossed over its chest, its expression concerned.

He wondered if Telford could see it.

He didn't think so.

They waited there in silence.

Two minutes passed.

Three.

"_Fuck_," Rush murmured, as, in front of them, the gate lit up again.


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>It was nearly midnight. Young stood next to the monitor bank in the gate room, his arms crossed, his head angled down as he looked over Eli's shoulder.<p>

The young man was flying through blurring white lines of code, his headphones in, his eyes intent as he ignored the flurry of nervous activity around him.

Periodically, Young looked up, keeping an eye on Telford, who was overseeing the preparation of the ship for a potential foothold situation. The other man had decided on the gateroom as his base of operations, mainly because he could keep a close eye on how things were progressing in the attempt to keep the gate from activating.

It could also end up being the first place that they would make a stand against whomever was trying to gate in.

"Time," Rush said, his voice strained as he leaned forward, shutting his eyes, flexing his foot.

"One minute, fifty seconds," Chloe said tightly, her hair falling over her face as she turned back to look at him.

Rush was completely unaware of her as he turned his entire energy toward pulling power away from the gate.

"The interval is still decreasing—" The rest of what Wray was going to say was lost to Young as he switched his attention to pulling Rush back out of Destiny.

The scientist did his best to help, but he had been exhausted when this entire ordeal had _started_, and by this point he wasn't capable of providing much assistance.

After about twenty seconds, Young was able to break him free entirely and the room came back into focus.

So much for keeping a low profile. He was pretty sure that synchronized unresponsiveness was a dead giveaway that something was going on between himself and Rush. Fortunately the gravity of the situation plus questions from Scott and Greer had kept Telford occupied with enough that the man hadn't noticed anything.

Yet.

It was only a matter of time.

"I don't understand why I can't just cut power _remotely_," Eli snapped, frustration evident in his tone. "The power grid in this area of the ship isn't responding to my commands. You're sure _you_ can't cut it?"

Rush shook his head and brought a hand up to his temple. "You think I haven't tried? I can _redirect_ it, draining it away from the gate as it starts to dial, but the grid itself isn't responding to me _either_. Obviously."

"Okay," Eli said. "Well, I guess it's time for plan B. Volker and Brody should be in position by now." He grabbed his radio. "Hey, you guys need to hurry it up. We don't really have an unlimited amount of time here." He glanced at Rush as he said it.

Wray paced a few steps behind where Rush and Eli were sitting, walking over to Chloe to look at the stopwatch she held.

"Um, yeah, about that," Volker's voice came over the radio, and Young tried to control the sinking feeling in his chest. "There's _visibly detectable current_ flowing through the relay we have to disconnect, which means we're talking about some serious voltage here. I'm not sure we're going to be able to get in there with the tools we have."

"What." Rush said darkly into the radio. "That's impossible."

"Um. Well, I don't know what to tell you," Volker replied. "You want me to take a video?"

"Yes," Rush snapped, "and fucking _show _it to me. Because if what you're saying was _actually_ the case, I would know. I guarantee you that."

"So, what, Brody and I are _hallucinating_?"

Rush sighed in disgust and slammed his radio down on the monitor bank. "Unbelievable. I'm going to have to go down there."

/No,/ Young projected at him. /Not happening, genius./

/Yes, it _is_./

The scientist was halfway to his feet when the next dial-in attempt came and he brought a hand to his head, unbalanced—

The room faded out as Young devoted everything he had to ripping Rush free of the ship again. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Rush had managed to drop into a crouch and that Wray was kneeling on the floor next to him, her hands on his upper arms.

Young knelt and pulled Rush up, pushing him into his chair.

"Stay with us," Young murmured, low enough that no one else caught it.

Rush nodded.

"TJ," Wray said quietly into her radio, turning away slightly as she stood. "We need you in the gateroom. Bring your bag."

"That was one minute, forty seconds," Chloe said quietly from a few feet away.

Young unclipped his own radio from his belt. "Guys, this is Young. We need power cut right now."

"Colonel." It was Brody this time. "Even if we could reach in there and avoid electrocution, with this kind of current, the relays have likely fused. We're going to need to trace this power flow back to its source and cut it off there."

"How long is that going to take?" Young asked.

"Unknown," Brody said.

"I don't believe it," Rush murmured, massaging his temples with his right hand. "I don't. Something else must be going on."

"Could the current they're seeing be some kind illusion?" Wray asked. "It's not like this kind of thing would be without precedent."

"Caused by what?" Park asked. "Some external influence? Something we picked up on a planet somewhere? Something that came through from Earth? The AI?"

Young looked over at Telford, narrowing his eyes. The other man was talking with Scott, his expression tight and concerned.

"It's not the AI," Rush said, his eyes flicking over to the left. "The AI is very—upset right now."

"Wait," Eli said quietly, his movements slowing into an unnatural stillness. He pulled out his headphones, his expression open and unsure. "What do you mean by that, _exactly_?"

"It's running wasteful algorithms. It's not projecting to me consistently."

"And you said," Eli whispered, his eyes moving to fix on the dark ring of the gate, "that the first time—you _let the gate open_?"

"For less than two tenths of a second," Rush replied, propping his elbows on the monitor bank and dropping his head into his hands. "Nothing came through. I'm _certain_ nothing came through."

"Nothing you could see," Eli said quietly. "Nothing _material_. But a very small piece of _information_ could have been transmitted."

Rush abruptly lifted his head to fix Eli with a horrified expression.

Destiny rocketed to the front of his mind, a terrified, anxious shriek, pulling him in, pulling him toward the chair and as Young struggled to keep the ship at bay he could see Gloria's silhouette in his peripheral vision, he could feel the AI, dark and unfamiliar, but this time _helping_ him—helping _Rush_ to resist the chair.

After a few seconds, the gate began to dial again and Rush, with a heroic burst of energy, pulled the power away for what must have been the thirtieth time.

When the room faded back in, he saw Wray and Eli were literally holding Rush in his chair. Young pried his own fingers away from the edge of the monitor bank and pulled away from Park, who had a grip on his upper arm, steadying him.

"Eli," Young said, when he could speak. "What are we dealing with here?"

"Possibly," Eli said grimly, "a virus. Of the computer variety. It's probably overwriting certain codes and that's why he can't detect it."

For the span of about thirty seconds, everyone was silent.

It was Rush who broke the silence as he sighed, shutting his eyes. "I _know_," he said, in response to something that none of them could hear.

They all looked at him.

"How long can you keep doing this?" Young asked.

"The time between dial-ins is decreasing and our—" he paused, shaking his head, "_my_—recovery time is increasing. In less than ten minutes, the overlap is going to be—_fuck_." he broke off, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Time," Chloe said quietly, "One minute, thirty seconds."

Young felt Rush abruptly turn his attention to pulling energy away from the gate. The room faded out as he felt Rush attempt the same maneuver he'd performed scores of times before. This time, however, something was different. As soon as Rush's mind came into contact with the ship, the pull of the chair distorted his thoughts, hampering his attempt, twisting and appropriating his focus.

As if Destiny understood what was happening.

As if it didn't want to be alone.

Rush was barely able to shut the gate down before the wormhole connected. As he attempted to pull the scientist out of Destiny's ever tightening hold, Young could distantly feel his heart slamming against his ribs, a headache building behind his eyes. Again, the AI again stepped in to help Young separate Rush from the internal circuitry of Destiny, to fight the merciless pull of the chair.

He opened his eyes to find himself being supported, just barely, by Park and Wray. He had managed to retain his grip on the edge of the monitor bank. He pulled away from them, trying to clear his head. When he looked up, he saw the AI standing a few feet away, projecting irregularly as Emily. Its outline flickered in the dim light. "If the CPU is compromised," it said quietly, "then so is he. Keep him out of the chair."

"It's going to be sooner than I thought," Rush murmured looking up at him. "I can't—" he opened his hands.

"Wray, Park, Chloe, out. Now. Join the other civilians in the mess."

"But—" Park protested.

"Out," Young snapped.

"Eli," Rush murmured quietly.

Eli didn't hear him. His headphones were in. His fingers were flying over the console.

Rush reached over and yanked the headphones out of Eli's ears.

"Ow, damn it! _What_?"

"I'm going to buy you as much time as I can," Rush said faintly, but _you're_ going to have to find it."

"Are you freaking _kidding_ me?"

"No. You need to write a program to identify anomalous codes within the mainframe. Ask yourself what this thing is _actually doing_ and then ask yourself what it _must_ consist of to perform its function."

"Yeah," Eli said quietly. "Yeah, okay."

Rush nodded.

Young grimaced as he looked at Rush's mind. The scientist was starting to lose the order that he normally imposed on his thoughts. His hierarchical, computational structure was eroded to nothing. Bursts of related but nonessential images were flowering as fast as he could redirect his focus. He was rapidly loosing coherence.

"Stay _out_ of there," Rush murmured at him, clearly referring to Young's brush against his mind. "As much as you can, stay out."

As they left, Wray, Park, and Chloe passed TJ, who threaded her way past them at the doorway.

"Hi," TJ said as she approached, carrying her medical bag.

"Oh for god's sake," Rush said exhaustedly. "Who called _you_? Get _out_ of here."

"Um—" she looked at Young uncertainly.

/_Rush_,/ he projected forcefully.

"Don't _project_," Rush snapped at him. "Do I have to fucking _spell this out for you_? Pull away _as much as you can_."

That comment seemed to catch Eli's attention. "Oh crap," the young man breathed, looking at Rush. "_That's _why_ I_ have to find it? Because you think you're going to be affected by this thing?"

"In all likelihood, _I_ _already_ _am_. Look, we have limited time, so just—"

He broke off as Telford strode over to join their group. His expression was tight with concern. "Affected by what?" he snapped at Eli. "What the hell is going on? You look like _shit_, Rush." His eyes flicked over to Young and narrowed marginally as he took in Young's appearance.

"Oh yes?" Rush said, leaning his head on one hand. "And what else is fucking new?"

"We think we might have a virus affecting Destiny's CPU," Young said, figuring the benefit of holding back that piece of information was pretty limited. "Likely transmitted through the open gate. That's why we can't shut the damn thing _off_."

"And you're affected?" Telford asked, looking at Rush intently.

Rush opened his hands. "No idea. Possibly. Probably."

"How long can you keep the gate shut?" Telford snapped.

"Not long," Rush said, glancing at Young.

"We need a time estimate."

"It could be as little as—"

He broke off as the gate started to dial again.

This time, it was excruciating.

Rush could no more fight the pull of the chair than he could fight gravity. Young fought it for him—his mind tearing under the strain. He could feel the AI helping him, a dark, opaque energy that leant its wavering, weakening strength to his own.

He refused to let go.

No matter the cost.

He could feel his heart flutter in his chest.

With a final flood of energy from the AI, they were able to rip Rush free.

The room faded back in, sounds resolving distantly beneath the roaring of blood in his ears. He was on the floor, lying on top of TJ, who had clearly tried to catch him when he fell. He could feel blood trickling down the back of his throat. He coughed weakly.

"Colonel," TJ said. Her voice sounded as though it was coming from far away. "Colonel, can you hear me?"

"Clear the room," he heard Telford yell. "Fall back _now_!"

Rush was suddenly beside him, his balance wavering slightly as he dropped into a crouch. "Get up," he said. "We've got to get out of here. That was the last time. I can't do it again. _You_ can't do it again."

Young tried to push himself up. His muscles were shaking.

"Eli," Telford snapped. "Fall back to the control interface room. Now. Run. You run your _ass _off."

Greer appeared next to Rush and hauled the scientist up by his jacket, dragging him bodily toward the door.

"Get him _up,_" Telford yelled, his assault rifle at the ready as the gate lit up, a glowing arc in the dimness of the room. Scott was suddenly beside him, helping TJ haul him to his feet, dragging him in the direction of the door where Telford stood, sighting down his rifle.

Young's knees buckled. He had _nothing_ left.

Behind them, he heard the event horizon stabilize.

It seemed so far.

He could barely breathe.

In the hallway, twenty-five feet away, he could feel Rush struggling desperately against Greer, trying to twist out of his jacket, trying to go for the other man's sidearm. Greer was too smart to fall for that move twice, and he twisted behind Rush, and pinning his arms as he dragged him back, away from the gate room.

Beside him, TJ's breath caught quietly in the back of her throat as she looked over her shoulder at the gate.

He heard, the soft, liquid sound of rematerialization as something came through. And then—the quiet, beating sounds of their movements, like a panicked flurry of wings.

He didn't need to turn to know what had come through.

They had already started to fire, their darts taking flight with a hiss, landing with the clatter of metal on metal.

In front of him, he saw Telford hesitate, his eyes narrowing, his expression unsure as he began to fire.

Next to him, Scott went down, dragging Young and TJ with him. A few seconds later, Young felt the familiar sensation of a dart burying itself in his back.

"TJ, _go_," he hissed, using his last remaining strength to shove her in the direction of the door. She looked at him briefly, her eyes scanning over him, the hand that had been around his waist coming up to yank the dart out of his back.

Then, her face cracking into an expression of utter desolation, she pulled away.

As he collapsed to the floor he saw her sprinting toward Telford for all she was worth, her hair beginning to come undone. She vanished around the doorframe.

He and Telford locked eyes. Young gave him a short nod. Telford hit the controls and disappeared behind the closing blast doors.

Rush's thoughts burst through his consciousness in a swirl of hysterical desolation. The other man was screaming in Ancient, fighting Greer for all he was worth, trying to make it back to the gate room, forcing Greer to pay for every inch that separated them.

/Nick,/ he projected, as numbness fanned out along his back. /Come on. You're okay./

In return, he got a wordless wave of misery before darkness claimed him.

* * *

><p>The first thing that came back to him was sound.<p>

It didn't help him much, as there wasn't any talking.

For a moment, he floated in the darkness of nearly complete sensory deprivation, until, finally, ignoring Rush's earlier warning, he shifted closer to the bright swirl of the scientist's consciousness—closer and closer, until, finally, like a pair of magnets, they snapped together.

Rush was in the control interface room, scanning through lines of code. As soon as he was aware of Young's presence in his mind, his head jerked up, his focus shattering into a confused mess of images.

"Thank _god,_" Rush snapped, getting to his feet, too agitated to stay in one place. "What the _fuck_ is happening?"

"Jesus christ," Telford murmured, looking away, his hand over his mouth.

Eli looked over at Rush, his face pale in the dim light, his expression tight and concerned.

"Doc?" Greer asked quietly. "You all right?"

/Not sure,/ Young projected back at him cautiously. /I got hit by a dart. As you probably know. How long have I been out?/

"Almost an hour," Rush said, ignoring everyone who was _actually_ in the room with him and, for some reason, deciding not to project. "We control the bridge, the chair room and the control interface room, obviously, but they haven't mounted any kind of assault. Yet." The scientist got to his feet and paced a few steps into the center of the room.

"Rush," Telford said, his voice sounding pained. "_Nick_, come on. Sit _down_. Sit down and look at the _code_."

"Who you talking to, Doc?" Greer asked.

Rush ignored both of them.

/Talk to your team, genius,/ Young projected, along with as much calm as he could dredge up.

"What?" Rush snapped at Telford, irritated. "Don't talk to me unless you actually have something of substance to—" he broke off, struggling to control a burst of images from his mind. Atlantis alight above him, the night sky distorted by the faint pink of visible geodesic shielding, a small girl with dark hair and gray eyes—

"Say." Rush managed to complete his thought after several seconds.

/Nick,/ Young projected carefully.

The word was mentally echoed by hundreds of iterations of Gloria, tearing though Rush's thoughts that Young could do _nothing_ to suppress. The scientist brought a hand to his forehead, trying to bring his thoughts under his control.

"Hey," Greer said. "Rush."

Using the sound of his own name, Rush snapped himself out of his mental loop and moved in closer to Young's mind, in a disorganized attempt to discern what was happening wherever Young was. Young's surroundings were quiet, however, and Rush lost focus, pulling back abruptly, sloppily.

Across the room, Telford was talking to Eli. They were inches apart—Telford's voice low and intense.

Young couldn't make out what they were saying.

Rush didn't seem to be interested.

"Doc," Greer said, his hand closing around Rush's elbow. "Doc, something is going on with you. You don't look right. What—"

He broke off as the overhead lights flickered.

"Interesting," Rush said, looking up. "I wonder how they knew."

/_Rush_,/ Young snapped at him. /Focus up, genius, come on./

"_You_ fucking focus," Rush said, instantly upset, his voice cracking slightly.

"That's it," Telford snapped. "Look, I know you're against this, but we need to discuss the possibility of shutting down Destiny's mainframe. _While we still have that option_. Before this virus does whatever it's supposed to do."

"No," Rush snapped reflexively. "Absolutely not."

"Think about this logically," Telford replied. "If you're even _capable_ of that anymore."

Rush stepped back, out of Greer's grip. Only Young's extreme effort prevented the threatening burst of images from overwhelming his consciousness.

"I'm trying to _help_ you," Telford said, his tone turning careful. "Not to mention trying to save this damn ship."

/Rush,/ Young projected, trying to project whatever sense of calm he could scrape together toward the other man. /Calm down./

"The man said 'no'," Greer repeated, his voice low and menacing as he looked over at Telford.

Eli was hunched over one of the monitors, trying not to watch the confrontation. His expression was tight and pinched.

Telford stepped forward, his left hand extended, palm open.

"Nick," he said. "Come on. Think about this. The Nakai somehow figured out how to gate onto Destiny and they're using a virus to try to take control of the ship. The best thing we can do is shut down the mainframe while we eliminate them. We can't let this progress."

Young had to admit, the plan made sense.

Telford stepped closer.

Rush stood his ground, watching Telford with narrowed eyes.

Telford stepped closer.

"Look," he said quietly. "This thing is clearly affecting you, Nick, whether you realize it or not. Right now, you're more of a security risk than an asset. Surely you must see that."

The other man's stance, plus the content of his statement caused a thrill of alarm to spread through Young's mind and transmit itself to Rush.

Rush stepped back.

Telford lunged forward suddenly, bringing his previously concealed right hand up in a fast arc. Something glinted between his fingers.

Rush threw up a hand, but he was slow, uncharacteristically slow, and Telford was going to connect—

Greer came from the side in a blur, knocking Telford to the floor with the barrel of his assault rifle, and then bringing the weapon around to point straight at the other man.

The syringe that Telford had been holding clattered to the floor and rolled to rest against the monitor bank where Eli was working.

Rush's gaze tracked it. The scientist reached out, his shaking hand connecting blindly with a bank of monitors. His thoughts shattered, flying apart not with intent this time, but because nothing held them together. He didn't know what to do. His chest was so tight, he could barely breathe.

Young stepped in, gently pulling his attention back to the confrontation between Telford and Greer.

"You piece of _shit_," Greer hissed, from between clenched teeth. "What the _fuck_ were you going to inject him with?"

Telford wiped a trickle of blood away from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "It would have _put him out_," Telford snarled back at Greer. "Surely even _you_ can see that he's _not normal_."

"Maybe this is news to you, but he's _never_ fucking been normal." Greer was shouting now. "We _need_ him."

"Yes. I _agree_, sergeant," Telford yelled back. "Which is why we have to put him _out_. I've been here less than twenty-four hours and I can already see that he's almost fully integrated with the ship. Maybe, _maybe,_ we can repair the damage this virus is causing the CPU. But can we repair his goddamned _mind_ if this completely fucks him up?"

Eli got to his feet and crouched down, picking up the syringe.

Rush shut his eyes, his heart rate skyrocketing, his grip tightening on the monitor bank.

Young tried to project as much calm as he could at the other man, but his own heart was pounding in the back of his throat. His mouth was dry.

"Eli," Greer snapped, looking over his shoulder. "_Eli_. What are you _doing_?"

Eli stopped a good five feet from where Rush had backed himself against a monitor bank.

"Hey," Eli said quietly.

"Eli," Greer said, looking back over his shoulder briefly. "Get the fuck _away_ from him."

"Hey," Rush replied. His breathing was fast and shallow. He couldn't get enough air.

"So, um, for what it's worth," Eli said, looking straight at Rush. "I think Telford might be right about this. And—" he paused, his throat convulsing as he looked away. "And I think it's possible—" he broke off again, "It's possible that you might not really understand what's happening right now. Not to you, and maybe—" Eli swallowed. "Maybe not at all."

Rush shut his eyes, and then looked away, out into the empty air.

"I can fix it," Eli said quietly. "I promise you, I'll fix it. I'll do whatever it takes."

"I was going to help you—" Rush whispered back to him.

"I know." Eli replied, smiling weakly. "I know that, but I can do this. I know I can. I have the whole science team. I have Telford's team."

"You don't need them."

"Maybe not, but they're nice to have around, all the same."

Rush nodded, looking away.

Slowly, carefully, Eli lifted his hand, offering the syringe to Rush. The scientist stayed motionless other than the subtle shaking that he could not control, caught in an agony of indecision. His heart was racing, his muscles so tense that he could barely pull air into his lungs.

The stakes were unbelievably high, and he didn't know what to do.

/You're okay, genius,/ Young projected quietly. /You know Eli. You can trust him./

Rush shut his eyes again, briefly, trying to focus his thoughts, succeeding only on one area. "Colonel Young is alive. Someone is going to need to go get him. And lieutenant Scott."

"Okay," Eli said quietly.

Rush reached forward abruptly, snatching the syringe out of Eli's hand.

"Doc," Greer said, frustration evident in his voice. "Come on. Don't do this."

Rush hesitated.

"Don't," Eli said quietly to Greer. "This is the right thing." He turned back to Rush. "I'm _sure_ this is the right thing."

Rush slipped halfway out of his jacket, shivering with more than just cold. Young was linked with him so fully that he could feel the smooth glass of the syringe, the horrible tightness in Rush's chest, the frantic, confused array of images in his mind.

For a moment, again, Rush was able to crystalize his thoughts into a moment of clarity.

/I'm sorry,/ Rush projected gently into Young's thoughts, either ignoring or forgetting his earlier warning. /I'm not sure you're going to get me back from this./

Young tried to shield him from the reaction that comment produced in his own mind.

"Please," the AI said, appearing briefly next to Eli as a fading, flickering version of Gloria. "Nick, please don't."

Rush froze.

"Optimal outcomes are unlikely," it whispered. "Suboptimal outcomes are likely. Their character is unknown." Gloria's expression twisted with unhappiness.

Rush looked at it for a moment, hanging onto his clarity with a supreme effort of will.

"This is fear," it whispered. "Please," Gloria said, eyes closing, "_please_ don't leave me."

"Sorry sweetheart," Rush murmured. "It won't be for long."

He jammed the needle into his left bicep, injecting everything in one vicious push as Gloria's image fractured apart.

Almost immediately the room began to narrow down, his peripheral vision fading as he pulled the needle out of his arm. He lost his grip on it almost immediately.

"Crap, that stuff is fast," Eli said quietly, stepping in to steady Rush as he swayed. "Come on. Sit down. Greer can you—"

But Greer was already there.

Between them they lowered Rush down to the deck plating.

"I'll stay with him," Greer murmured to Eli, his tone resigned. "Go. Do your thing."

Young watched Rush instinctively try to fight the drug, but the tension rapidly leeched out of his muscles. His hands opened. His head fell to the side, away from Greer. He struggled to stay conscious as he looked at the AI, lying beside him on the deck plating.

It was still manifesting as Gloria.

Gloria was crying.

"Don't cry," Rush said thickly. "Please don't cry."

/It will be all right,/ Young projected.

"It will be all right," Rush whispered to the AI.

She started to sing.

"_Oh ye'll tak' the high road  
><em>_And I'll tak' the low road  
><em>_And I'll be in Scotlan' afore ye—"_

Rush's eyes closed, and Young lost the sense of his mind completely.

Almost immediately he found himself back in his own paralyzed body, his heart slamming against his ribs, his thoughts desperate for an outlet in movement, but, against everything he was, he remained still—lying helplessly on the cold deck plating.

With a tremendous, adrenaline-powered effort, he managed to open his eyes. He was lying on his side, facing the stargate. It was still open, the blue glow of the event horizon searing his retinas as his eyes closed again.

He focused on his breathing.

Next to him, he could hear the fluttering sound of one of the Nakai shifting its position. There were more of them in the room, but not many. One near his position, and at least two farther away in the room. They did not speak.

He focused on not panicking.

They could still get out of this.

They could.

Telford was an excellent tactician—he might be able to hold the key locations on the ship.

There might not be very many of the Nakai on board.

Eli might be able to get the virus out of the CPU, in which case they could very possibly get help from both Destiny and Rush.

One step at a time.

Again, he managed to open his eyes, as he did so, he felt the FTL drive shut down.

The overhead lighting went out.

He took a deep breath, then another, and tried to think of anything but Rush.

Finally he was able to open his eyes, and keep them open. His gaze shifted around his entire visual field, taking in Scott, paralyzed beside him, a dark outline against the dim glow of the emergency lights, the gate, which still remained open although Eli had, presumably, taken the CPU offline. Finally, his eyes settled on the silhouette of the Nakai that was stationed at the gate, watching them.

It looked over at him.

Young stared back, his eyes narrowing.

It looked over at its companions, who were absorbed in examining the monitors near the door to the room, and then looked back at him.

This behavior struck him as odd.

It walked toward him slowly, its movements quiet, the swing of its gait unsettling, but even so, there was something about its manner that was familiar.

It stopped a few feet away from him, cocking its head as it dropped into a crouch, its limbs bending unnaturally.

_/Hello,/_ it projected at him.

He looked at it.

/What the _hell_?/ he projected back, his control wavering with stress, and exhaustion and incredulity.

/I'm not sure how to respond to that,/ it projected, its mental voice sounding oddly familiar.

/What _are_ you?/ Young asked it, too astonished for a snappy comeback of his own. He glanced over at the other two aliens who were working at the monitor bank. When he looked back, he was no longer staring into unfathomable, black eyes.

He was looking at the familiar face of Sergeant Hunter Riley.

/What am I?/ Riley echoed. /Well, I'm certainly not one of _them_,/ the young man projected, crouched on the floor, looking over at the two Nakai near the doorway. /Nor am I one of you. I'm more of an—observer./

/_Riley_?/ Young asked incredulously, unable to keep an element of hope out of his tone.

/Sorry, colonel, no. I simply chose the appearance of someone who doesn't exist any longer in your universe because I thought it would minimize confusion./

/Who the hell _are_ you then?/

/I'm a member of the race that built the obelisk planets, as you've named them./

Despite the gravity of his situation, a spark of hope flowered at the back of Young's mind.


	25. Chapter 25

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Fanart for this chapter**: Has been done by the ever-talented tanyanevidimka! Head over to her tumblr account and look for post 17889094762.

**Additional notes:** This chapter features a prominent allusion to Andrew Bird's "A nervous tic motion of the head to the left," which inspired much of the latter half of FoD. This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>Young took a deep breath, then another, making an effort to flex his fingers and ankles. As sensation returned to him, he could tell that his arms were bound behind him with some kind of tough, flexible material.<p>

Riley, or—whoever the _hell_ it was, watched him with interest.

He was going to have to convince this thing to help him.

That shouldn't be _so_ difficult.

The SGC had entire _manuals _on the subject. He had read and, more or less, committed the John Sheppard version to memory, which was the shortest and the most practical. The man had made allies out of the _wraith_ for god's sake, so it followed Young should be able to make some headway with a presumably advanced alien life form that didn't seem to be overtly hostile.

Hopefully.

He briefly reviewed the steps in his mind, hoping that this thing couldn't or wasn't actively reading his thoughts. It was clearly able to communicate with him by projecting, and to alter both his perception _and_ the Nakai's perception of its appearance. That however, didn't mean it had any _insight_ into his thought processes.

_That _particular concept was driven home to him on a daily basis.

So.

John Sheppard's list.

1—Find out what they know about you. 2—Correct erroneous assumptions. 3—Identify a common goal or a shared enemy. 4—Define the terms of your agreement as explicitly as possible.

/You're an interesting person,/ Riley said, cocking his head to regard Young curiously. /Across the multiverse, you have created many different fates for yourself and your crew./

/Across the _multiverse_?/ he directed back at it.

/Yes. We span multiple parallel realities. I can, therefore, simultaneously see your probability-dictated paths. They are many and varied. Only in a few universes are we having this conversation./

/Ah,/ Young said, slightly taken aback. /What about the other—universes?/

/In some, you are dead. In some, you are in stasis. In _none_ have you returned home./

Great.

/So how did you meet your friends over there?/ Young indicated the Nakai with his eyes.

/They come from the ship that was trapped in the advancing phase wave. I joined their crew as they entered our 'territory', so to speak./

/Do they know who you really are?/

/No. They do not./

/And how did they get _here_?/

/Their own technical ingenuity,/ it said, /combined with some assistance from me./

He had not been expecting _that_ piece of information.

/Thanks a lot,/ he growled at it, his temper uncharacteristically spiraling out of his control. /Why the _hell_ would you do that?/

/Their ship is not sufficiently advanced to handle the energy liberated by the transition between universes. They used the energy released from colliding D-branes to power a stargate that they had acquired from one of the 'seed' ships, as you call them./

/_I'm still not hearing an answer_./ Young mentally snarled as he flexed his fingers, trying to encourage his sensation to return as quickly as possible. /You realize that in _facilitating_ their arrival here you not only put this crew in danger and _fucked up_ a sentient piece of technology, but _also_ my chief scientist and if he doesn't recover from this, I will _destroy_ you, if it's the last god damned thing that I do. I _promise_ you that./

Riley looked at him without expression.

/Your crew,/ Riley said finally, /is always in danger. And as for Dr. Nicholas Rush—he has become a point of contention among us./

/Welcome to the club,/ Young replied.

/You have the right to know that I facilitated the attempt of the Nakai to board your vessel so that I might have a means to destroy you at my disposal, should I deem that necessary./

His anger evaporating in the face of that pronouncement, Young looked at it steadily, clenching and unclenching his hands rhythmically as he considered its statement, its callous use of the Nakai.

/But you're not decided,/ Young said carefully.

/I have not yet chosen a course of action,/ it confirmed.

That was interesting.

/Why is that?/ Young asked quietly. /If you perceive us as a threat, why not just eliminate us?/

/As I said, there is significant contention amongst our ranks regarding Dr. Rush. Specifically whether he should be categorized as a human or as an Ancient./

/And that matters because—?/

/Because _we_ are Ancients. We are not _your_ version of Ancients, but we are Ancients all the same. We come from a universe that parallels your own, but rather than ascending to a higher plane of existence as most of our race do, we broke away from our original universe to exist in all simultaneously. The effect, from your perspective, is akin to classical ascension, but in character it is significantly different./

Young raised his eyebrows. /So if he were a human, you'd stop us, but since he may be, _semantically_, an Ancient, you're undecided?/

/Yes./

/That's _bullshit_,/ Young snapped. /Why build these damn planets if you don't want people using them?/

/_We_ use them. They are for _us_. They allow us to untether our existence from individual universes. Normally they remain dormant. Over a millennia, Destiny has been learning how to trigger them, and they have been learning to recognize her. Your arrival accelerated this process. As did the transformation of Dr. Rush to interface with the ship. He has clouded matters significantly./

/_Of course_ he has. That's what he fucking _does_./

/In this universe,/ Riley murmured, /he is very close to achieving successful navigation between two D-branes./

/And you're opposed to this?/ Young asked.

/Not categorically,/ Riley said carefully. /It depends upon his intentions. Should he be successful, many options are available to him. Some more—destructive than others./

/Can't you just look at all his simultaneous paths to assess his intentions?/ Young asked, surreptitiously pulling against the cords that restrained him.

/We cannot,/ Riley said. /Too few data points exist to make a definitive decision./

/What is _that_ supposed to mean?/

/In the vast majority of universes, he has not survived to this point. In those where he has survived, his paths are wildly divergent./

Young shut his eyes briefly. It made sense, he supposed, but that didn't make it any easier to hear.

/So you're here to do what?/

/My race has become very interested in Destiny and its crew. When the Nakai vessel pursuing you entered the advancing phase wave, our criteria for intervention were met. I was sent to determine what your fate should be./

This did not sound promising.

/What our _fate_ should be?/ Young echoed.

Riley shrugged. /We guard the integrity of the multiverse. This is not a charge we take lightly./

/Look,/ Young said. /We're just trying to get _home_. We don't want to screw up the multiverse, or whatever it is you're afraid we're going to do./

/Assessment of your probability paths indicates that this is indeed _your_ primary objective, but it is clear that in this universe, _you_ are not the sole determinant of Destiny's future./

Which, Young supposed, was a tactful way of saying that Riley, or whoever he really was, really didn't trust Rush or the AI not to do something extremely irresponsible as they tore through the fabric of existence—if that was indeed their plan.

Great.

Honestly, Young could see the thing's point.

/Well, in order to assess _anything_ you're going to have to talk to Rush./

/True,/ Riley replied. /Do you know where he is?/

/_You_ don't know?/ Young asked, surprised.

/As I said, we are not omniscient. I cannot determine the current status or actions of Dr. Rush in this universe or any other without observing him directly./

/So when you see me,/ Young asked it, /what is it that you see?/

/I see a man bleeding on the floor of Destiny's gate room. I see a man in stasis. I see a man on the bridge, in the mess hall, abandoned on an alien world. I see a man consumed by guilt, consumed by drink, consumed by anger, by depression, by failure. Very rarely I see a man who is happy. In many universes, I see a crew defined or destroyed by your absence./

Well fuck.

/All at the same time?/

/Yes,/ Riley confirmed.

/Sounds confusing,/ Young said shortly.

/Est quid est,/ Riley commented.

/I've heard that before,/ Young murmured, recognizing the refrain from the swirl of Rush's thoughts.

Riley raised his eyebrows.

/From Rush,/ Young said shortly.

/I find it odd that a man who is continually pushing the limits of your species, and for that matter, the limits of _existence_ should espouse such a sentiment,/ Riley said quietly, glancing at the Nakai.

/He's a complicated guy,/ Young replied.

/Do you know where he is?/ Riley asked.

/Last I saw he was in the control interface room in the middle of a panic attack before he was drugged into unconsciousness./

/This could pose a problem,/ Riley said, though he didn't seem overly perturbed.

/No kidding./ Young snapped. /Any chance you could help me out?/

/Sorry,/ Riley said. /This is really a data gathering mission./

/Yeah./ Young said shortly. /I figured. I suppose you have some kind of noninterference policy that's going to prevent you from helping me? Though I noticed that you gave the _Nakai_ a hand./

/Ultimately not to their own benefit, I assure you,/ Riley said grimly. /There is no question about their fate./

/You're awfully _decisive_ for an Ancient,/ Young commented dryly.

/Your people have experience with us?/

/Yes,/ Young said shortly. /Generally, we find you to be a pain in the ass, and not really very helpful, though there have been a few exceptions./

Riley looked vaguely amused. /We have a strict policy of noninterference when it comes to events on your plane, or brane, or—/ He broke off with a circular hand motion. /However, your actions, and those of the Nakai have started to transcend your normal sphere of agency./

/And you use this to justify doing whatever the hell you want?/

/I submit to you that rather than debating me, an attempt to free yourself would be a better use of your time. The Nakai do not expect you to wake for at least another hour, at which point they will most likely begin to torture you and your subordinate for information./

Young managed to turn his head to look over at Scott. The other man had at least one dart still embedded in his shoulder that Young could see, which likely meant he'd gotten a significantly larger dose of the anesthetic and anticoagulant drug than Young had. The first order of business was to pull the thing out of Scott's back, as soon as he was able to do so.

As he looked at the dart, he noticed something unusual.

He narrowed his eyes, watching for several minutes, to confirm his initial suspicion. The dart was slightly, just _slightly_ transparent. He frowned. This must be what accounted for Telford's hesitation in firing when the Nakai had initially come through the gate.

The only possible solution that suggested itself to him was that the Nakai were out of phase relative to the crew of Destiny. Not entirely. There was still enough overlap that their darts had been able to bring him and Scott down effectively.

Enough overlap that their weapons should also be able to affect the Nakai.

He wished Rush were still conscious so he could ask his opinion in the implications of this phase shift.

With a sloppy, wavering effort, Young rolled over onto his stomach, the maneuver bringing him significantly closer to Scott. Incrementally, over the course of several minutes, he shifted his position until he was close enough to the other man to use his teeth to pull the dart out of Scott's shoulder. He carefully lowered the small weapon down to the deck plating, keeping it from clattering on the metal of the floor.

He looked Scott over as best he could, hoping that that he hadn't missed any of the other small weapons.

Scott was bleeding slowly but steadily from the small wound that, as luck would have it, was positioned just past the edge of where his Kevlar jacket had shielded him.

Young hadn't been wearing a jacket. He assumed that his own back sported a similar, slowly leeching wound.

Hopefully this wouldn't be as bad as last time.

Maybe the drug being slightly out of phase would mitigate some of its effects.

Maybe.

TJ was going to kill him.

Rush was going to be an absolute pain in the ass about this.

Hopefully.

Young looked over at the two Nakai and noticed that Riley had silently moved into position directly between him and the two guards at the door, shielding him from view.

Interesting.

Perhaps the thing wasn't entirely unsympathetic to their situation. It seemed to have no great love for the Nakai. Maybe it just wanted to talk to Rush and figured that waiting for Young was the easiest way to get to the other man.

Whatever it's reasoning, Young wasn't going to complain.

He struggled surreptitiously against his bonds, trying to get a sense of their composition and positioning. They were made of an elastic type material that bit savagely into his skin, wrapping around his forearms, pulling his shoulders back at an unnatural angle. Oddly, the Nakai had left him a significant range of motion in his wrists, binding his arms midway to his elbows—a strategy that was much more appropriate to their long-limbed physique than it was to his.

This position was absolute hell on his shoulders, but might, in the end, facilitate an attempt to cut himself free.

He really needed to get back in the habit of carrying a knife.

He scanned Scott's form, but the lieutenant had nothing visible on him. There always was the possibility that Scott had picked up Greer's habit of keeping a knife strapped at his ankle, but there were really only a limited number of knives on Destiny, and he wasn't aware that Scott was one of the personnel that had one.

Maybe he had requested one from Earth.

As surreptitiously but as thoroughly as he could, Young searched the other man, coming up with _nothing_ that had a remotely sharp edge. He considered using the dart he had pulled out of Scott's back, but its needle-sharp point was not going to be very effective, and it was likely he'd end up stabbing himself with the tip in the wrist.

Fuck.

What the _hell_ was he going to do?

What would _Rush_ do in this situation?

Rush seemed to consistently be able to get himself out of these kinds of impossible scenarios, and even though he couldn't talk to the man, he _supposedly_ had some of Rush's cognitive architecture now, so he had damn well better be able to figure this out.

He tried to relax, tried to think about calculus, about linear algebra, about computational complexity theory, tried to get _everything_ he had of Rush to come to the fore—neural patterns, random facts, ways of thinking, ways of approaching problems.

With a click of total acceptance he admitted that there was no way to cut himself free.

It was time to abandon that avenue of thought.

He flipped through ideas that presented themselves and then faded just as quickly until, after almost no time at all, he seized on one.

It was going to be costly.

It was going to be awful.

It was going to be—what was the term Greer had used?

Classic Rush.

He knew, he _knew_, that this would be the solution Rush would choose.

Young groped blindly behind him, his hands trailing over the top of Scott's kevlar jacket, until he found the other man's collar and then the metal chain of his dog tags. Reaching around, awkwardly, he pulled the chain free from the other man's neck with significant difficulty, keeping his eyes on the Nakai the entire time.

Riley continued to shield him.

Carefully, he threaded the chain of the dogtags around the loop of material that was closest to his wrists, doubling it back to grab both ends in his hands, gathering them up as tightly as he could.

Fuck, this was going to hurt.

It was immaterial.

Gritting his teeth, he started to pull, flexing his wrists for all he was worth, dragging the bonds down towards his hands a fraction of an inch at a time. Even with the diminished sensation he was experiencing as a result of the anesthetic in the dart, the pain was incredible.

The skin on his forearms was tearing, bruising, bleeding under the unyielding pressure he was applying.

It was immaterial.

His grip on the chain began to slip as blood ran through the spaces between his fingers.

It was _immaterial_.

He pulled the metal chain free and rethreaded it through a second loop. Again, he began to pull, focusing on keeping his shuddering breaths as even as possible, trying not to think about the damage he was causing. Trying not to think about the horrible, acid-like pain screaming up to his shoulders and down to his hands.

_It was immaterial_.

Rush would be able to do this.

And so would Young.

He rethreaded the chain a third time.

Finally, _finally_, he felt the tension in the bonds give.

He rethreaded the chain again through the rest of the looped material and pulled it down to his hands, slipping the blood-lubricated bonds easily down over his forearms, letting his jacket fall behind them with a raw wash of pain.

He lay there for a few moments, focusing on not passing out.

He had no desire to look at his arms. It didn't fucking matter anyway.

Young focused on his next move. He could either wait for Scott to regain consciousness, or he could advance on the two Nakai near the door on his own. Unmistakably, the latter option made the most sense. They didn't have an infinite amount of time before the inevitable torture was going to commence, and Young was entirely certain that he did _not_ want to find out what that would entail.

Problem: He didn't have a weapon.

Solution: Riley had a Nakai weapon, and was, presumably, corporeal, at least for the time being.

He wondered how the Ancient would feel about a surprise attack. In all likelihood, he would not look favorably on it. Yes well, that was just too fucking bad, wasn't it now? The reallocation of resources was unlikely to be sufficient grounds for the destruction of the entire crew, making this certainly a risk worth taking, given the fact that he was unfortunately underpowered when it came to weaponry at the moment.

He flexed his hands in anticipation. If—

Wait.

_Wait_ a goddamned minute.

He knew _exactly_ whom he was starting to sound like.

As if he suspected something, Riley looked back at him with narrowed eyes.

Maybe in some other universe Young was currently attacking him.

Fuck.

He tried to suppress the very thought patterns he had just purposefully called up.

It was more difficult than anticipated.

_Fuck_.

He worked to try and ignore, to repress the raging adrenalin, the aggressive, panicky sensation of needing to _move_, needing to _take_ _some goddamned action_, needing to do something, _anything_ other than _lie _here, _uselessly_ on the _floor_. He flexed his hands, feeling the blood run down, warm, over his fingers, and it was _satisfying_ and it _should_ fucking hurt and he goddamned _deserved it_, this was his _fault_ and—

Jesus fucking Christ.

Neural architecture his _ass_.

This was way, _way,_ beyond some kind of mental support structure, this was fucking _personality_ and fucking _facts_ that he shouldn't know, and fucking _sentiment_ that he shouldn't have, and a fucking _predisposition _to absolute _panic_, which from the outside had always looked like some kind of self-indulgent, academic, prima donna-type _hysteria_, but was, in fact, extremely—just _extremely _difficult to control and _organic_, and god—and no one, _god_, _no one_ should feel this fucking _trapped_ by their own body, _ever_–it was fucking _torture_, and maybe, _maybe_ if he didn't fucking just _miss_ Rush's mind _so_ _fucking much_ maybe he would really be able to just _let go_ of what he had called up, but—

Behind Young, Scott shifted marginally.

"Sir?" He heard the barest hint of a whisper.

That one word snapped him out of what had been about to become his first panic attack.

He was _not_ Nicholas Rush, damn it.

He was Everett Young, who, in fact, was _famous_ for _not_ panicking in these types of situations.

_Nicholas Rush_ needed his goddamned _help_ at the moment, as did everyone else on Destiny, so—

He needed to get it together.

He reached back, closing one of his bloody hands around Scott's wrist, squeezing once before working his way up the man's forearms to find the loops of material that bound his wrists. Using a combination of the dogtag chain and his fingers, he started to work them down in a manner that was hopefully less destructive than what he'd done to his own forearms. The irregularities in Scott's breathing and the slow lubrication of the bonds told him that he was not entirely successful.

Finally, Scott's arms came free. Young reached back found Scott's palm, and tapped out a pattern in Morse code on his hand.

_Can you move._

He repeated the message twice before Scott tapped back.

_Some_.

The other man's fingers were shaky and cold.

_Tap when you think you can stand._

Young watched the Nakai behind the monitors for five minutes. Ten. Occasionally, if the light hit them in the correct way, he could see the deck plating faintly through their outlines.

The Nakai had their hands on their weapons and a nice, clear shot across the open floor. He and Scott were likely to be easy targets, slowed as they were by the aftereffects of the darts and the blood loss. He was going to have to get the two to approach their position without calling for reinforcements.

Maybe it would be as easy as revealing that he'd regained consciousness. Maybe they would then just start interrogating his mind.

Or maybe, they'd shoot him with another fucking dart.

He narrowed his eyes and flexed his hands as he lay impatiently against the floor, watching them.

A frontal assault would bring the darts on anyway.

The cold tap of Scott's fingers against his hand startled him and he flinched, his muscles contracting instinctively.

_Ready_.

_Don't move until they approach. I'm going to draw their attention._

Young tightened his grip on the metal chain of Scott's dogtags and sat up, carefully keeping his wrists behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could feel the other man's gaze.

Immediately the two Nakai looked around, their movements graceful in a way he'd never fully appreciated until this moment. He shook his hair back out of needless habit and leveled a glare at them from beneath lowered eyebrows. One of them looked at Riley, who moved aside, clearing their path.

The one on the right hissed threateningly as it approached.

"I have a suggestion for you," Young snapped at them. "Why don't you both go fuck yourselves?" Subtly, he got his feet beneath him in preparation for launching himself at the one to his right.

It had pulled out one of the metal communication devices. He was pretty _damn_ sure that he did _not_ want that thing attached to his head. Already, before it even _touched_ him, he could feel the pressure of its thoughts against his own.

It was feet away.

Inches.

Reaching down towards him.

With an explosion of energy he forced himself up, the cold and the drug and the undetermined amount of blood loss slowing him, but not enough, _not enough_ to make him unsuccessful in his attempt to fucking _kill_ this thing. His hands came apart as he tackled it to the floor, easily unbalancing its long, ungainly limbs with his lower center of gravity and all he needed was to just—

It tore into his mind.

It was not looking for information, and he could _tell_ that—he could _tell_ because he _remembered_ what it felt like when they did that to him and he remembered this too and _this_ was just, _only_ about pain which was _fucking fine _with him, he preferred this actually, he _did_, even though a scream tore out of him, choked by the horrible tightness that clamped his teeth together and the pain of biting the inside of his cheek and blood was running down the back of his throat and he _could not breathe_ but he was going to fucking _kill_ this thing if it was the _last goddamn thing that he ever did_ and he had the dogtags wrapped around its neck and these things had to breathe, _right?_

It faded from his mind and he looked up, gasping, shaking with adrenaline but there was nothing left to fight, it was only Scott, _Scott_ who was kneeling next to him, his hand on Young's shoulder and it was _intolerable_ to him.

"Don't _touch_ me," Young said, pulling away, breathing deeply.

Scott looked at him. Pale, and lost, and confused, and _afraid_, his hands covered with a blue sticky substance, his face spattered with it, his eyes, _his eyes_ _horrified_, his breath coming in gasps as he looked back and forth between Young and Riley and at anything but the floor, where a few feet away, the other Nakai lay on the deck plating, its features an unrecognizable mess half submerged in its own blood.

"God," Scott said, his voice thin as he brought a shaking hand to his forehead, leaving a smear of blue where he touched his skin.

With a heroic mental effort, Young shoved Rush's though patterns back as far as they would go.

He put a hand on Scott's shoulder and pulled him in. "You're fine," Young said, his mouth next to Scott's ear. "You're okay, son. You did good."

"Did you feel that," Scott whispered back, his voice strained to breaking. "That's what they did to her. They must have. And worse. Worse than that." Scott looked away, one hand coming to his mouth. "Worse."

Chloe.

Chloe and Rush.

"I know," Young said, his own voice tight. "I know. But we've got to go."

"Yeah," Scott said shortly, pulling back, still shaking, still unsteady. He looked over at Riley, the skin around his eyes tightening as he looked back at Young, uncertain, maybe, if Young could see him as well.

"Hi Matt," Riley said quietly.

Scott's eyes flicked to Young.

Young nodded at him.

"Um, hi," Scott replied. "Are you—"

"No," Riley said softly. "Sorry. I'm not him. I'm just an observer."

/Get to fuck,/ Young snapped at him, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to ignore the pain in his shredded forearms, the way the blood coated his wrists and hands.

/You seem to have developed some extremely interesting personality traits in the past half hour,/ Riley commented mildly.

_Shit_.

He wondered if he had really fucked—

He wondered if he had really _screwed_ himself up by _trying_ to bring everything of Rush that he had to the front of his mind. He _also _wondered if this was partially or even primarily a consequence of the other man being completely unconscious and therefore absent from their link. Rush had consistently been concerned about what the outcome would be for Young if anything happened to him.

Well, it looked like he had fucking—

Well, it looked like he had discovered one of those consequences.

Possibly.

Probably.

Fine.

Yes, well, it was all fine, actually, because Rush was extremely good at surviving situations like this. He would worry about getting his own thought processes back later.

So.

Priorities.

One—get to the control interface room, killing as many Nakai as possible en route. Two—find a lifesigns detector, eliminate all Nakai from the ship. Three—make use of his new skill set and help Eli get the virus out of the CPU. Four—wake up Rush and fucking _kill _him. Five—convince extremely powerful Ancient equivalent to _not_ destroy Destiny.

''We need to go to the chair room," Riley said quietly.

"The chair room?" Young asked skeptically. "What good is that going to do?"

"You'll see," Riley replied.

"How the hell do you know so much _anyway_?" Young hissed at him as he bent down to pull the Nakai weapons off the corpses. "I thought you only saw _present _pluralities, not future ones."

"Much like the Ancients from your universe, we do a great deal of watching. Some things that from your perspective appear opaque are transparent to us. I will be able to talk with Dr. Rush using the chair interface."

"You're going to sit in the chair?" Young asked it.

"No," it said quietly. "You are."

* * *

><p>Young and Scott made it to the chair room with surprisingly little difficulty.<p>

Scratch that.

Considering they were accompanied by an ascended being, it _wasn't_ so surprising.

Scott took up a position by the door, cradling one of the Nakai weapons across his chest, his eyes flicking between Young and the empty corridor.

Young looked at the chair suspiciously.

"If I end up with _fucking bolts_ through my hands and feet, I'm going to be extremely _upset_," he growled, glaring at the ceiling.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, sir?" Scott whispered from his position by the door. "What if you need to be pulled out as well?"

"Then I guess you'll have to get TJ down here," Young whispered shortly. "Or Greer. Greer's number two."

"Sir, if it comes to that, I can—"

"No you can't. You're getting married, right? Just stay away the fuck away from this thing."

"I haven't asked her yet," Scott murmured. "Brody's still working on the ring."

"Irrelevant," Young snapped at him.

And _fucking hell _this was _not_ _him_.

Scott looked over, startled.

"She's obviously going to say _yes_," Young said, recovering nicely, and trying to get a _fucking_ _hold_ on himself.

No.

Not a 'fucking' hold, actually, just a regular hold.

A nice, normal, regular-person hold, leading to a calm, competent, alert state of mind, not an excitable, hair-triggered, live-wired, barely contained state of alertness that bordered on pathological, where even the smallest external perturbation seemed to be capable of completely fucking up the dynamic equilibrium of his _fucking_ mind until—

Fuck.

How the _hell_ did Rush operate like this?

Without pausing to consider the ramifications of his actions too deeply, he sat down in the chair.

As the restraints snapped into place, sending an almost unbelievable amount of pain shooting up his damaged forearms, he saw Riley placing his hand on the palm interface that he usually used to pull Rush _out_ of the damn thing.

Hopefully this was not going to be a mistake.

Young opened his eyes to find himself outside under a gray sky.

He stood next to Riley on a sloping hillside that ended in a cliff high over the open sea. Below them, the water broke along the dark rocks in white crests. The wind whipped through his hair, teasing his jacket, disturbing the grasses and the clusters of small purple flowers that covered the hillside.

He could feel Rush's mind again, _finally_, but distantly, like a voice underwater.

Something wasn't _quite_ right.

Rush was sitting on the slope, his forearms resting on bent knees, looking out at the sea.

The relief that Young felt was _unbelievable_.

Rush looked fine.

He looked really fucking great, actually, with his hair and his glasses and his completely conventional white collared shirt that looked fucking _new_ and that he somehow managed to wear like he'd _invented_ the thing.

Rush turned. "Hello," he said taking them both in, seemingly unsurprised by Riley's presence. He looked at Young. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"More or less," Young snapped, completely uncertain how to convey the laundry list of things that was currently _wrong_ and just going for cryptic and mostly true. "We can talk about it later." He narrowed his eyes at Rush. "Are _you _all right? How are you _here_ when you knocked yourself out an hour ago?"

Rush narrowed his eyes right back at Young. "We can talk about it later," the scientist replied, casting a sidelong look at Young's companion.

Great. Their conversations were going to turn _really_ fucking _boring_ if Rush couldn't fix this.

Young and Riley walked over to stand next to him.

Rush did not get up.

"It's very nice to meet you, Dr. Rush," Riley said, extending his hand.

"Likewise," Rush said, smiling faintly as he reached up to grasp it. "Though I must admit, I've never really understood your race's propensity to take on the appearance of someone you aren't. Does it assist you in some way to borrow from my preconceptions of Hunter Riley?"

Three things simultaneously occurred to Young. One—they were currently talking to Rush's projection of himself, which had, to Young, always seemed much more grounded and less guarded than the man _in the flesh_. Two—Rush was currently unconscious and purposefully cut off from the ship and therefore shouldn't be able to project a god-damned thing. Three—Rush seemed to know exactly who Riley was.

Well. This was just another _fucking great day._

Riley looked at Rush steadily for a moment, though the corner of his mouth quirking slightly as if he were suppressing a smile. "It is rare to find something in this universe that really is as it appears to be. I would think that _you_, of all people, would be acutely aware of that."

Rush's eyes flicked to Young, intolerably intense and somehow—uncertain.

Riley sat down on the hillside next to Rush, and Young followed suit.

"You're here to assess my intentions?" Rush asked Riley.

"I am."

"I've been expecting you," Rush murmured, "though I didn't necessarily anticipate it would be under these circumstances."

"You'll agree that talking with this version of you is the most—pertinent," Riley said, his eyes scanning the landscape.

Young looked at Rush with narrowed eyes, cocking his head, silently asking for an explanation.

Rush shook his head minutely.

"This is very nice," Riley commented. "This is where you grew up?"

"No," Rush said, smiling faintly. "I grew up in the industrial district of Glasgow. A fucking shithole, as we liked to call it. This is nicer."

"We weren't watching him then," Riley said quietly.

"I'm aware of that," Rush replied. "Component pieces come together in unpredictable ways, yet time remains linear. That's always something you struggled with. Always something you tried to change. To no avail."

Riley laughed shortly, his face briefly surprised. "You are—" he broke off, shaking his head, clearly amused. "Audacious and without tact. You began by insulting me, and you have now cast aspersions on my entire race."

"I apologize," Rush said quietly.

"Please don't. I find you utterly charming."

"I assure you, I am not at all _charming_." Rush looked vaguely insulted. "I'm sure Colonel Young will confirm that for you."

Riley turned to look at Young, his eyebrows raised.

"You're not going to remember this later, right?" Young asked Rush.

"No," Rush said guardedly.

"Frankly," Young said, looking at Riley, "he's a pain in the ass most of the time. But yes, I do find that he can be extremely charming."

Rush rolled his eyes.

Riley smiled, turning back to Rush. "So," he said quietly, "what do you plan to do if you are successful in leaving your D-brane?"

"I plan to fix what I can," Rush murmured.

"Specifically?" Riley prompted.

"I plan to send the crew home. I plan to tether the neural patterns of Dr. Franklin, Dr. Perry, and Ginn to liberated energy so that they might have the choice to return to physical form or to continue to exist incorporeally as ascended beings. I plan to fulfill one of the objectives of Destiny's mission by interrogating the nature of the multiverse and transmitting the data back to Earth."

Young made no effort to hid his astonishment from Rush, allowing it to tear into the muted darkness of the scientist's mind.

Riley looked down, pulling at a blade of grass. "That was not the primary mission objective of the AI," Riley said finally.

"No," Rush said, glancing quickly at Young, "We have and are currently adapting. As you see."

"And Gloria?" Riley asked.

"We can't fix that," Rush whispered, looking away.

"You could attempt it," Riley said carefully.

Rush shook his head, looking away. "I know what your response would be. The cost is too high." His voice was tight.

"You will not tear through to a new brane?" Riley asked.

"No," Rush said, sounding pained.

Riley nodded, looking out at the sea. "I won't make any promises, but if you hold to your intent and do not complete the passage to another universe, I believe that we won't interfere with you."

Rush nodded.

They were all quiet for a moment, Young's mind was a barely controlled maelstrom of questions and tension and _anger_. He could feel the muscles at the back of his neck tightening and he absently hooked a hand over his shoulder, rubbing the ache away.

Riley picked a flower, a small purple primrose, twirling it absently between his fingers for a moment before letting the breeze catch it. It floated out and away over the water.

"And what of Dr. Nicholas Rush?" Riley asked quietly.

"Unknown."

Below them, they could hear the roar of a distant sea.

Riley stood. "You may not see me again."

He looked intently at Young and then back at Rush.

"It was nice meeting you," Rush said quietly.

Riley nodded, then paused, looking at Rush. "I'd like to give you a piece of advice, if I may," he said, cocking his head, looking down at them.

Rush nodded.

"Explain to Colonel Young what you are."

A cold thrill shot through Young's disorganized thoughts at Riley's words.

Rush glanced over at him, his gaze quick and, as always, too perceptive.

"And what am I?" Rush replied wryly, like he knew the answer but was waiting to hear Riley say it.

"You know exactly what you are," Riley smiled. "You're what happens when two substances collide."

They sat together, watching Riley as he vanished over the top of the hill. As soon as he was out of sight, Rush shot up, kneeling in front of Young, his gaze intent. He reached forward, one hand coming up, his palm resting on Young's cheek, his hand moving to tip Young's head to the side as he stared straight into his eyes.

"Damn it," Rush murmured. "What _happened_? Your mind is a mess."

"I feel a hell of a lot like I imagine that _you_ feel on a regular basis," Young growled at him. "Which is, to clarify, _really fucking pissed. _What the _fuck_ is going on? _You're what happens when two substances collide?_ Don't think that I'm letting _that_ one slide, you _jackass_. Why the _fuck _do you always seem to be in some kind of state of existential crisis whenever it's _least_ convenient—"

"Oh shh," Rush said, looking amused as he smoothed Young's hair back. "Hang on a minute. I can fix this."

"You'd _better_ fucking fix it," Young snapped. "It's your fault."

Rush smirked at him.

Then he was flowing through Young's mind like the tide, like the wind, over and through his thoughts, disrupting nothing, but brushing away the confused, shredded remains of a personality that didn't belong, clearing them away, pulling them back to wherever they'd come from and he knew, he _knew,_ what his mind must look like to Rush, bright and clear and open without barriers, without defenses, and god he hated the idea of it, he really just _hated_—

Rush finished his sweep through Young's mind, leaving calm in his wake.

Around them, the wind died down to nothing.

Rush looked at him, cocking his head curiously, running a thumb over Young's temple.

"Better?" he murmured.

"Yeah," Young replied.

"They're still there, you know, those parts of me, in the background, supporting your cognitive architecture, supporting your mind. Don't pull them forward again."

"No kidding," Young said quietly.

"Are you all right?" Rush asked. "I can't tell for certain."

"Everything's going to shit," Young whispered.

"I know," Rush whispered back, his expression pained. "I know it is."

They were inches apart. Young didn't pull away, he simply—stayed steady. Carefully, very carefully, as if he were uncertain of what Young's reaction would be, as if he were anxious, as if—as if he'd _never done this before_, Rush moved in closer.

In the back of Young's mind, in the place where his borrowed scaffolding interfaced with his own instincts, things started to coalesce, to fall into place.

_That part is—fading. _

_We have adapted._

_I can't tell for certain_.

_And what am I_?

Rush kissed him, and it was wholly, entirely different from what it had been before. It was tentative and exploratory and gentle, like the opaque sweep of Rush's thoughts through his mind. Nothing came open to him, and though the other man's mind was clearly close, clearly _immediate_, it was not transparent to Young. The only sense he could get of it was something sensitive, acute, highly structured, intensively organized, beautifully _intact_ and—

In short, whatever it was, it wasn't Rush.

Young gripped its upper arms and pushed it back, shoving it _away_ from him as hard as he could.

It fell back, unbalanced, curling into itself, just—exactly like Rush. It looked down and then away from him, out over the ocean, to the edge of the world, where the sea met the sky in perfect line.

Like it gave a damn.

Like it _hurt_.

"What the hell _are_ you?" Young asked, trying to summon up anger but failing, falling short, unable to fight the wave of grief that had gripped the back of his throat.

"Weren't you listening?" it asked, wistfully. "Riley told you."

"Cryptic bullshit," Young choked out.

"It looses something in the translation," it murmured. "But admit it, you've always suspected that when I projected my image like this, I wasn't _entirely_ the person you know."

"Yeah," Young said shortly. "You always seemed—"

"Better," it finished.

"_Not better_." The words tore their way out of him and Rush flinched.

_It_ flinched.

"Just—not better."

"I wouldn't know," it said, looking down at its hands. "Not really."

"So what _are_ you?" Young asked, his voice hard. "Exactly."

"Eli," it said quietly, "was afraid to shut down the CPU entirely. He was afraid of what would happen to the AI. Afraid of what would happen to me. To Rush, if you prefer. So instead of powering it down, he isolated it from the rest of the ship, burying it in the neural interface. When he did that, the parts of Nicholas Rush that were stored on the CPU were cut off from his mind. They are currently integrated with the AI."

"You," Young said horrified. "You're the _AI_?"

"No," it replied. "I'm a combination. I come into existence intermittently. We've met before. I'm very much like the person you know, just—a bit less destroyed. A bit less volatile. A bit easier to talk to."

"You aren't a _person_, then," Young said. "You're a _thing_."

Rush looked away.

It.

_It_ looked away.

"I thought you might understand," it said quietly.

"You're _destroying_ him," Young said.

"No, Everett. I'm saving him. Saving _myself_. The only way I can."

"No," Young said. "Maybe you think that, but you're wrong. _Wrong_. Just—stop. Stop _all _of this. We'll find another way back to Earth. We don't have to fly into a phase wave to liberate energy, or _whatever _it is exactly that you're planning. We'll find some other way."

"What about Mandy?" Rush asked softly. "What about Ginn, and Dr. Franklin?"

"We'll figure something out," Young said, trying to keep the desperation, the confusion out of his voice. They weren't _your fault_, all right? What happened to them? It wasn't _you_ who killed them. You don't need to make some kind of karmic _trade_."

"What about the AI? It continues forever, failing to fulfill its mission? Its purpose? I woke it up. I gave it meaning. I can't just take that away."

"Shut up. You're just saying that _because _you're the AI. Partially. We can damn well take away your meaning whenever it suits us. You're a fucking _machine_. You don't _have _meaning. You don't have feelings. Not really. If you did, you couldn't have put yourself—put _Rush_ through as much _shit_ as it has. As _you _have. Fuck."

"It gets complicated," it said quietly, "when we combine into one."

The wind had picked up again and was raking through their hair, carrying with it the smell of the sea.

"Fuck you," Young said, his voice breaking. "I'm taking him back. You back. I'm taking the _real_ Nicholas Rush back."

"Even if it kills me?" Rush asked. _It_ asked.

"It's not going to kill him."

"He won't survive unless he does this. It was part of the initial terms." It was uttered so quietly, Young could barely hear him.

"Jesus Christ," Young said, burying his face in his hands. He tried to pull a deep breath past the tightness in his throat.

"You can't take him back," it murmured. "For him to survive, you have to let him go."

"I'm _not_ going to fucking let him go, and I'm _not_ going to fucking let him combine with the AI."

It looked at him steadily. "You will. You'll have to."

Young shook his head.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I didn't realize what it would be like for you. I didn't know, going into this, that you'd be involved at all."

"The AI knew. The AI damn well knew _exactly_ what would happen."

"And it told you to pick TJ," it murmured.

"God, I would never wish this on another person. On _TJ_? God. I can't imagine her—I can't imagine _watching _her—"

"TJ is dying," it said quietly. "That's why she was preferred over you."

Young stared at him, hands clenching into fists, fighting the urge to hit it. Hit _him_. Hit something.

He wondered if, here, he even _could_.

"You know what?" Young hissed, "I've changed my mind. You two fucking belong together. Heartless, icy bastards—the both of you. I hope you fucking have a great time together. I hope you have to watch people suffer for eternity and as much as I _know_ now that Nicholas Rush can't tolerate the thought of standing still, of not being active at those times, I hope it's fucking everlasting _torture_ for you. I hope it drives you _insane_. _More_ insane."

Young got to his feet and paced away from whatever it was that he was fucking talking to and out toward where the hill sloped away down toward the ocean.

He wondered if, in this mental space, wherever it was, he could fall.

He doubted it.

After a few moments, over the sound of the wind, Young heard the unmistakable metallic flick of a lighter.

He didn't turn.

Eventually, it stepped into his peripheral vision, offering him a lit cigarette.

Young shook his head.

Rush shrugged. The wind was blowing his hair back.

"This is what he should be," it said quietly.

"That's not how these things work," Young murmured. "You don't get to erase what you are because you want something better. You don't get to tear through the multiverse to magically fix things that have been broken. Consequences are a part of life. You have to live with them."

"I've accepted that," it said. "You're the one who hasn't. Things do not continue forever. Change is a part of existence. You always, _always_ will lose him."

It seemed, in most universes, he already had.

Young shut his eyes and listened to the roar of the sea.

"Please don't think of me as an 'it'," the thing said quietly, sounding pained. "I _am_ Nicholas Rush. Right now, you're just interacting with the thirty percent of me that was trapped in the CPU, but more and more of him is becoming incorporated, from the ground up, into _this _consciousness. When Destiny pulls on his mind—that's the sensation that results from the slow integration of the man and the ship."

Young compressed his lips. "I can still pull him back. I can still pull him out."

"Yes," Rush said quietly. "That's your prerogative."

"I'm supposed to _prevent_ this," Young said, making a sweeping motion with his hand to take in Rush. "I'm supposed to help him hang on to what he is,"

"That _is_ your role," Rush murmured. "But," it paused. "Consider reexamining your premises."

"Thanks but no thanks," Young growled. "Are we done? How the hell do I get out of here?"

"For fuck's sake. You're an idiot," Rush snapped, losing his increasingly tenuous hold on that disquieting sense of calm that seemed so out of place on his features. "This is probably your _only_ opportunity to ask me about the nature of the mission, when _Rush_ has merged with the AI enough that together we're actually fucking willing to cooperate with you, and you're going to just walk out of here because you're _pissed_? Excellent plan. Very much up to your usual standards," it hissed.

Young crossed his arms. "So?" he snapped. "I'm waiting."

It shook its hair back, imperious and flawless. "You'll be waiting quite a fucking while then. I'm certainly not going to _cater_ to your subversive agenda. Tell me what you _need to know_."

"The risks to the crew," Young snapped.

"I already told you that they'll be all right. I'm going to dial Earth as we approach the collision point, using the energy liberated from the apposition of the D-branes to power the gate. The Nakai did the exact same thing to dial Destiny successfully, so you know it's possible. Everyone goes home. End of story."

"Not for you," Young said darkly. "You're going to do what, exactly?"

"I'm going to help the three people stored in the memory of this ship to break free via ascension."

"And you're going to ascend yourself?"

"Ideally," Rush said, looking away.

"And the person who ascends, is it going to be Rush, or the AI, or _you_? The combination?"

Rush didn't reply, just made a sweeping gesture that took in his whole person.

"_You_? Great. So what happens to _Rush_?"

"Fuck you. You're not listening. I _am_ Rush. I will be Rush." It paced away a few feet.

"No," Young said shortly. "Everything that's _left_ of Rush when this is over will be a _part_ of _you_. Big difference."

Rush took a long draw of his cigarette then turned to look at Young, with narrowed eyes.

"Nicholas Rush is a _miserable_, sorry, mendacious, corrupt, son of a bitch. He's such a mess that he's barely holding together. He's infected with a virus that's killing him, he's losing his sanity, he's _already_ lost most of what was important to his conception of himself. He's not worth preserving. I don't understand why you're being so obstinate about this. _He_ wants it this way. _ I_ want it this way. It's better."

"It's not better," Young said quietly. "It's not."

"You" Rush said, its voice strained, pointing two fingers at him, "are not my arbiter, and you have no say in my fate." He turned away again.

Considering the fact that they were mentally linked, it was, Young reflected, a very cold, isolationist, and mechanical sentiment to hold. On the other hand, it was also a fiercely independent declaration from a thing, a man, who seemed, despite his passionate assertions, somehow uncertain.

Perhaps he was looking at things backwards.

Perhaps it wasn't the AI who had insisted on this incorporation, this brutal judgment, this destruction and remaking of Nicholas Rush.

Perhaps, it was Rush himself who had wanted it, who had insisted on it.

Perhaps it was Rush himself who thought he _deserved _it.

Young shut his eyes. What was it the AI had said to him so long ago?

_He believes you are correct in your assessment of his character_.

"You're right," Young said quietly, "I'm not your arbiter. But I'm connected to Rush in a very real way. I'm connected to _you_ as well, so I can tell you that even though you feel like you're doing the right thing, you don't speak for Rush, and you don't speak for the AI. They're two individuals, with different goals. They occasionally come into conflict. Mostly, they _help_ each other." He took a deep breath. "And until _they_ decide otherwise, I'm going to help them stay independent."

"God," Rush said, his voice cracking. "You're trying so fucking hard—but," he turned away, one hand over his mouth.

He walked up behind Rush, putting his hands down gently on the other man's shoulders.

"But what?" Young asked quietly.

"This," Rush whispered, his eyes shut, "is the only way you can have him, in the end, because he can't, he _can't_ ascend on his own, and he's going to die if he doesn't."

"Why can't he ascend?"

"You're connected to his _mind_," Rush said, his voice pained. "Is it not _obvious_ to you why he'll _never_ be able to do it on his own?"

"I want to hear you say it," Young murmured.

"Because he _hates_ himself." Rush said venomously, glaring at Young like something inhuman. "It's why the AI was _fucking_ with him so mercilessly at the beginning—appearing as Gloria, trying to forgive him, trying to help him realize that some things weren't his fault. It's why it talks to him _all the time_. It's trying to find a way for him to do it, trying to convince him that he's deserving, but it can't, so it's trying to _integrate_ way, _way_ beyond what it was designed for, it's rewriting its programming for him, trying to change the mission parameters, hiding things from _you_, because it—it _cannot_ _stand_ the thought of destroying him," Rush said, his voice cracking again.

"Hey," Young said quietly, pulling him around. "We're going to work this out," Young murmured, looking straight at him. "One step at a time. Right?"

"I don't think so," Rush said.

"Yes," Young said, gently shaking his shoulders. "We are."

"Unlikely," Rush said tightly.

"Don't give me that," Young said, gently shaking him again for emphasis.

"You consistently ask the wrong questions," Rush murmured, his voice low and immediate, his gaze as intense as ever.

"And you're consistently inconsistent," Young murmured back, his grip on Rush tightening for a minute. "But I'm learning to adapt."

Rush pulled back. "Go. Get the Nakai off our fucking ship."

"Yeah," Young replied. "Though what's the point of inviting Telford on board if he's not going to earn his keep? I fully expect that they're all taken care of by now."

Rush smiled faintly. "Don't get yourself killed."

"I'll do my best. How do I put you back together again?"

"Take me apart, you mean?" Rush corrected him wistfully. "All you have to do is put him in the chair. Make sure you've purged the virus from the CPU before you do it."

Young nodded.

"Everett," Rush said quietly. "If Eli can't get the virus out of the CPU—could you come back and just—let me know?"

"Yeah," he said quietly.

Rush looked out again, over the sea, a dark profile against the gray of the sky. "Don't wake him up," Rush whispered.

"I have to know," Young said quietly.

"Even if he's sane, which I doubt, taking him back to Earth would still kill him,"

"We have antivirals," Young said shortly.

Rush looked at him, his gaze clear and steady. "You don't have enough."

"You don't know that," Young said stubbornly.

"Yes, I do," Rush replied.

Young didn't reply.

"I'll send you back," Rush whispered finally, looking away. "Close your eyes."

Young looked at him for a long moment, but the other man, or thing, or _whatever_ it was, whatever _he_ was—didn't look back.

He just continued to stare out at the sea.

Finally, Young shut his eyes.


	26. Chapter 26

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** Intense arc of intenseness continues to be intense. This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting. After this chapter, please proceed to the oneshot "What Falls Away is Always."

* * *

><p>Young opened his eyes as the chair released him.<p>

He—

It was—

Something—

Why.

Cold and pain and a sense of why and a sense of wrong and—

"Oh my god," Scott was above him, and he was on the floor.

When—

"Oh my _god_. Colonel. _Colonel_. Please—please talk to me."

It was too much.

The cold and the pain and the abrasion of clothing over skin and the scrape of bones over cartilage as he breathed and the dark and the light coming together in the edges that made up objects that existed corporeally. The raw feel of the air down into his lungs and the quiet of the ship and the sound of Scott's rapid, panicked breathing and the way his forearms felt like they had been dipped in acid and he just couldn't—

It was too much.

He _couldn't_—

"Colonel," Scott's voice was cracking. "Please. I can't do this without you." He paused, and the angles made by his face, lit up blue against the darkness, changed. "What the _hell_ did you do to him?"

Scott had looked away.

Everett.

That was his name.

Colonel Everett Young.

"I think you misunderstand my purpose here, Matt," Riley said quietly.

Riley.

He had _killed_—

In a shuttle, alone, and dark and cold like it was here, like it was now, with the application of such awful, terrible, unremitting _pressure_—

He had killed Riley.

With his bare hands.

But this—this wasn't Riley.

"You said you're an _observer_? Well _you _were the one who _told_ him to sit in the chair, so you can _fix him_. Right now." Scott was whispering, his eyes darting frantically between Young, the doorway, Riley, the doorway, Young and always, _always,_ back to the doorway.

"One cannot observe a system without affecting it. Even your species, with its rudimentary grasp of quantum mechanics, has discovered this phenomenon."

His mind was working. He could follow the words. He could make sense of them, he just couldn't—

His thoughts were hard to control.

They were damaged, but—

Scaffolding.

Rush had made it for him.

Rush, with his hands that were clever and sure and quick and careful and against his temples—

Rush had _made _it.

Young was stronger now. His _mind_ was stronger.

Strong enough?

Young stared up into the blackness as Scott made an incredulous, distressed sound in the back of his throat. "How is that _fair_?"

"When a photon encounters an electron, and pushes it off its path, is that _fair_? It just is. There is no way to set it back again without further disruption. If I 'fix him,' as you request, he will not be the same."

Scott's hands came up, his palms opening in Young's peripheral vision, his breathing rapid. "How—"

But Riley was gone.

"Oh god," Scott whispered, his breath catching as one hand closing around Young's shoulder. "_Please_, God. Please help me." Scott squeezed his eyes shut for a brief second then looked out toward the doorway, the Nakai weapon balanced on his shoulder, his eyes liquid, catching the light.

Young had to do this.

He had to put himself back together.

For Scott.

For Chloe, for Camile.

For all of them.

For Rush.

It wasn't just a matter of willpower.

It was about the capacity to reintegrate his mind with his body—to still the overwhelming flow of sensory input that paralyzed him, to filter out what was unimportant, to communicate that into _action. _To do, in short, what Rush must have to do _every time_ Young ripped his mind out of the neural interface.

Of course, for Rush, it was easy. _His_ cognitive architecture had been modified to withstand these kinds of pressures but—

Maybe, now, Young's was too.

Over the distracting graze of his clothing against skin, the hollow, strained sound of Scott's breathing, the agony in his arms, the feel of his boots closing over his feet and the air flowing over his face, he tried to narrow down on what was most important.

In the hallway, he could hear the whispery beat of the Nakai approaching the room.

Scott froze as he heard them too.

The young man's expression turned hard as he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, his marginally transparent weapon at his shoulder. He reached down, his hand closing on the collar of Young's jacket as he dragged him across the floor, towards the limited cover of the nearest bank of monitors.

Young tried to help, but couldn't— couldn't quite—

Scott let go of his jacket and positioned himself directly in Young's line of sight. He had dropped into a crouch, his back against the dark matte metal of the monitor bank, his face blank and determined, his breathing slow and quiet.

The faint emergency lighting barely illuminated their position.

Scott's hands closed gently around his weapon.

Young's heart was pounding; he was cold—a deep, bone-chilling cold that seemed to come from inside of him and seep out, rather than the other way around.

He made an effort to take control of his breathing and found that he was able to slow his rapid, shallow breaths.

The Nakai entered the room.

Their gait echoed quietly against the metal of the deck in the small, enclosed space. They did not speak aloud, but his abraded, sensitive consciousness could feel their minds as they conversed with each other, a feathery, painful sensation against the damaged places in his thoughts.

Slowly, incrementally, Scott leaned out around the edge of the monitor bank.

Young clenched his hands into fists.

Almost.

He was _almost_ there. He was relying on the scaffolding, using it to integrate his sensation into something interpretable. Using it to transmit his intent from mind to body. This wasn't as bad as what had happened previously in the shuttle. Now he had Rush's borrowed architecture and he'd been, at least partially, protected by Rush, or the AI, or the _combination_—

Well, by whomever it was, that thing that had looked out over the sea.

He focused on keeping his breathing even and slow.

He could do nothing to calm his racing heart.

The door to the room hissed shut.

Now.

_Now_ was the time to attack, before any of them came around the back of the monitor banks, before they made an effort to completely secure the room, but he could do nothing, nothing, _nothing_ but _watch_ as—

Scott's weapon snapped up and he opened fire, the blast kicking back hard into his shoulder, nearly knocking him back before he braced his feet beneath him and fired again. And again. And again.

His face was set, his eyes were narrowed, as he swept the room in fast arcs.

Young was distracted enough by the light, the sound, the pain, the cold, that he almost missed it, but—

Behind him, something scraped across the floor.

Scott didn't notice.

Scott didn't _hear_.

Young's own Nakai weapon had ended up somewhere near the chair, back in the shadows.

He marshaled his willpower and reached numbly for his sidearm. His hand closed around the cold metal with a distracting, intolerable shock that transmitted itself from his fingers all the way up to his shoulder.

The sound came again—that same low scrape. Closer this time.

He had to turn.

He had to _turn_.

With a herculean effort, he flipped over, his muscles poorly controlled, his grip on his gun wavering. Habit, training, force of will, allowed him to extend his arm as he rolled and he was sighting down the barrel of his weapon straight at a wounded Nakai that was dragging itself, slowly, quietly toward him.

It was nearly close enough to touch.

Its mangled chest left a wide blue streak on the floor behind it.

Silently, it reached out toward him with its long blue fingers—black eyes wide and depthless, its face contorted in pain or in anger.

It hissed softly at him.

If it touched him—

He wasn't sure his mind would be able to take it. Not a second time. Not after the chair.

He fired.

The kickback of the shot, normally not noticeable, reverberated up his injured forearms with a wave of pain so intense that his vision flared to a blinding white, the edged contours of monitors and lighting and seams in the deck plating fading, sounds losing their sharpness, as he struggled to rein in his sensations, to overrule them, to suppress them—

It shrieked at him, lunging forward and the adrenaline and the _fear _shoved the vagueness back, snapping the room back into focus and he fired again, and again, and again, emptying his clip into the thing at point blank range.

He faded out.

"Colonel." It was Scott, his voice low and urgent. "Colonel, come on. If you can hear me—"

His eyes, which had been open, staring unseeing, unprocessing, at the angles that the ceiling made with the bulkheads, snapped to Scott's face.

"Colonel?"

"Yeah," he managed.

"Thank god," Scott breathed. "Are you okay?"

"Um," Young said.

"Yeah, obviously you're not okay, but we've got to go. I think we just announced our presence big time to anyone who might be in the area. Plus, these guys are telepathic, so actually they _all_ probably know now—" he broke off, biting his lip briefly. "Can you walk?" Even as he asked, Scott was hauling Young to his feet.

"Shit," Young managed as the room swayed around him.

The pain in his arms and in his head combined with a vicious sense of vertigo and gave rise to an intense wave of nausea.

Scott was relentlessly moving forward, half dragging him toward the door, one hand around his waist, the other at his wrist, avoiding as much of the abraded skin as he could.

"I need a weapon," Young managed, and Scott gave him a gentle shove in the direction of the monitor bank as he knelt quickly to pick up an energy weapon from one of the fallen Nakai before pulling Young's arm back over his shoulders.

Scott was a good kid.

Underappreciated.

Professional.

Dependable.

Able to do his damn job after being drugged, telepathically assaulted, and in the face of what appeared to be almost insurmountable odds.

At this moment, with Scott dragging him from the scene of one firefight into what was likely to become another, Young _damn_ _well_ appreciated that, even as he wished for Greer.

But Greer was better where he was.

"Nice work," Young choked out, as Scott hauled him around the doorframe and into one of the cross corridors. They managed to duck out of sight just as a group of Nakai rounded the corner, heading toward the chair room.

Scott didn't reply, his breath catching in his throat, his heart pounding so hard that Young could feel it through the arm that was draped over the younger man's frame.

All around them in adjoining corridors they could hear the whispery movements of the Nakai converging on their position.

God—how many had come through?

There was nowhere to go. The corridors stretched endlessly out before and behind them.

Scott kept moving forward.

Ahead of them, a panel opened in the base of the wall, sending blue light spilling into the corridor.

His first thought was the AI but—the AI was cut off from Destiny, buried in the neural interface chair by Eli.

"Colonel," he heard Volker whisper urgently. "In here!"

Scott wasted no time in dragging him across the corridor. The younger man knelt, covering him, while Volker helped Young through the small opening. Scott was right behind him, carefully, silently fitting the metal panel back into place.

The space was small, and eerily lit with a soft blue glow.

Volker and Brody stared at him, their faces spectral in the unnatural light.

Brody held a finger to his lips, his eyes dark, his expression full of warning. Then, careful not to make a sound, the scientist offered a lifesigns detector to Young. With his finger, Brody indicated their current position.

The hallways were swarming with Nakai.

Young looked up at the rest of them, startled. Volker nodded at him shortly, then pulled a pen and a small notebook out of his pocket, of a type very similar to that favored by Rush. Quickly, he scribbled a note, then passed the little book to Young.

_They can't detect us behind the bulkheads. Sound carries well though._

With some difficulty, Young's fingers closed around the pen. He shook his head slightly to clear it, trying to focus on what was important.

Time and adrenaline were clarifying things for him.

_Accurate count_? He passed the notebook back to Volker.

Brody looked on over his shoulder.

_67 total; 58 = now alive. THE GATE IS STILL OPEN_.

Young nodded.

Presumably the entire Nakai crew had come through the gate, and there was no one left to shut it down on the other side.

Young held out his hand for the notebook. At his shoulder, he could feel Scott's steady presence.

_They dialed in from their ship. These = ones caught in phase wave. Are they transmitting information through the gate (more virus)?_

Volker showed Young's message to Brody. They looked at each other in apparent consternation. Then Volker took the pen and started scribbling rapidly.

Young heard the tread of the Nakai just on the other side of the bulkhead.

They all froze, barely daring to breathe. Trapped in a confined space like this—they would be easy targets.

After a few moments of tense silence, Volker continued writing. When he was finished, he handed the notebook to Brody, who read it over and added a line or two before passing it on to Young.

_1. How do you know these = from the ship caught in phase wave?_

_2. If you are correct, then phase wave includes time dilation? English translation: more time has passed for us than it has for the Nakai?_

_3. Not sure if they're transmitting information (+/- more virus?), but I'm _damn_ sure we'd better shut down that gate. Wormholes + time dilation = bad news = word on street. _

Below Volker's list, in his neat, blocky handwriting, Brody had added:

_We need FTL. Other Nakai ships may have dropped out already…they're just not firing because their friends have, essentially, taken Destiny?_

Young looked at their comments, grimacing.

_They haven't taken the ship. Not by a long shot. Why didn't Eli cut power COMPLETELY?_ He wrote, ignoring Volker's questions.

Volker passed Brody the notebook. The other man started writing immediately.

_Can't cut power completely if trying to wipe the virus. Eli rebooted the system in 'safe mode.' That way we have life support and AIR. Also, he's able to protect the AI somewhere behind a firewall while he tries to clean up the code. That's what I would have done. Rush location = ?_

Young's teeth clenched.

_CI room_.

Brody and Volker crowded a bit closer to take a look at the lifesigns detector. There were four people in the CI room. Volker grabbed the notebook.

_That's where Eli was headed. They're together? Rush + Eli = excellent._

Young sighed quietly, picking up the pen.

_He's unconscious. _

Volker and Brody looked at the pad. Brody looked away. Volker grabbed the pen out of his hand.

_Less excellent._

Young nodded.

_And also less excellent = you're both covered in blood. You guys need some bandages or something? We can rip up our shirts. _

Young shook his head, but Scott grabbed the notebook.

_Yes. The Colonel needs some time to recover before we go for the gate._ _You guys have any food? _

Young glanced sharply at Scott.

Scott shot him a look in return that was somehow both defensive and admonishing as he reached over to take the power bar that Brody was offering. Scott opened it quietly with his teeth and handed it to Young.

Young pushed it back at him, shaking his head.

Scott broke off a small piece and shoved it back in Young's direction.

Young rolled his eyes but started eating it.

Scott opened the canteen attached to his pants and offered it to Brody and Volker, who refused. He drank a few swallows himself before passing it over to Young.

As Brody helped Young with his jacket, easing it down over his shoulders, Volker unbuttoned his shirt and carefully pulled a screwdriver out his the toolkit that he and Brody had been carrying. He went to work on ripping the seams from the sleeves as silently as possible. In a few minutes they had the cloth tied tightly around Young's shoulder, putting pressure on the sluggish flow of blood that was still coming from his back. They did the same for Scott, using the sleeves from Brody's shirt.

After a few moments, Young motioned to Scott to hand over the notebook.

_So…plan? Have you guys figured out how to cut power to the gate or not?_

Volker grabbed the pad.

_Yes. Problem: approx 20 Nakai between us and the portion of the grid powering the gate, and WE HAVE NO GUNS._

Young raised his eyebrows.

_WE have guns._ _Let's go_.

They nodded shortly, motioning Young and Scott to follow through the cramped space.

The four of them crawled, worming their way through the walls bathed in eerie, flat blue light. In some places it was too tight to even get to hands and knees.

Intermittently, they could hear the Nakai moving on the other side of the bulkhead.

Young was starting to get a significant second wind. He was certainly not at his best, but the power bar, water, and bandaging job had helped his physical condition as well as his state of mind. His consciousness seemed to be recovering further with each moment that passed, mostly likely thanks to Rush—one way or another.

Shit.

He was not thinking about Rush.

It was a bad idea at a time like this.

Ahead of him, Volker and Brody came to a stop, crouching in the opening made by several intersecting ducts. Volker showed him the lifesigns detector, again indicating their position on the map, and then indicating a second location—apparently where he and Brody needed to go to cut off power to the gate at its source. It was a long way down open stretches of corridor that were currently being trafficked by Nakai.

Young gestured for the notepad.

_Why the HELL didn't this part of the grid power down when Eli went to emergency power?_

Brody grabbed it back from him.

_VIRUS._

Young rolled his eyes and gestured for the notebook again. He made a rough sketch of the layout of the corridors ahead of them, then drew a brief outline of his planned path, marking points of cover with sequential numbers. He showed the sketch to Scott, who studied it intently for a few minutes, then nodded. He grabbed the pen and motioned to himself, then scrawled one word.

_Point_?

Young nodded. He grabbed the pen back from Scott and wrote a quick message for Volker and Brody.

_You two follow Scott. I'll be in the rear. Who wants Scott's sidearm? Mine's out of ammo._

Volker and Brody looked at each other uncertainly.

Young pointed at Brody, and Scott handed over the weapon.

"Hey," Volker mouthed indignantly. He grabbed the notepad.

_Stop listening to Rush so much._

Young shrugged. "Whatever," he mouthed back.

Brody offered the weapon to Volker, who took it, looking somehow both uncomfortable and defiant. Brody picked up the toolkit they had brought with them.

Young handed the lifesigns detector to Scott, and shifted to let him get in front. Volker went next, followed by Brody. Their egress point wasn't far, and after thirty seconds of crawling, Scott stopped in front of the access panel. Young squinted ahead, trying to see past Brody and Volker. Dimly, he could make out the soft glow of the handheld monitor that Scott was studying.

They waited.

After almost three minutes, Scott silently lifted the access panel and lowered it to the floor of the corridor. In a flash he had hauled himself out of the tunnel and turned to pull Volker to his feet. Brody and Young crawled forward until the entire party was back in the open corridor.

No Nakai were in sight.

Immediately Brody knelt to replace the panel.

Then they were moving forward as silently as possible, heading for the first point that Young had identified. It wouldn't be long before—

They appeared abruptly—in his vision and as rending sensation in his mind—as they rounded the corner ahead of Scott in a three-man patrol. Their weapons were out. They were sweeping the corridors, clearly looking for something, clearly _ready_.

The Nakai opened fire.

One hand outstretched, Young knocked Brody back against the bulkhead, out of the path of the energy weapons. Scott fired a broad burst with his weapon at the same time that Volker fired a single shot from the handgun, putting the bullet straight through the eye of the nearest Nakai.

God damn.

Young wondered if he could do that a second time.

By unspoken accord they broke into a run, leaving the dead Nakai behind them as they sped along the corridor, breaths coming in shallow, terrified gasps, boots echoing on the deck plating.

Young's eyes flicked back, checking their six.

It was just a matter of time now before all hell broke loose.

Scott was sprinting flat out, the lifesigns monitor in one hand, the Nakai weapon in the other. Volker and Brody were right behind him. Young followed, pulling cold air deep into his lungs as he kept some space between himself and Brody. If they were attacked from behind, he wanted to be able to break off from the rest of the group to lay down cover fire.

He glanced back again.

Again.

And again, but—

When the attack came, it came not from behind but from the right. A group of Nakai burst out of a blind corridor straight into their midst—shrieking in his ears and in his mind.

Volker was knocked off his feet in the confused tangle of bodies—of blue skin and black uniforms and ripped civilian clothing.

It was impossible to get a clear shot, impossible to see Scott, impossible to—

The nearest Nakai let out a venomous, angry hiss, sending an instinctive wave of cold down his spine, through his _thoughts_. Young reached forward with his left hand, pulling Brody back, out of the way, behind him, as he fired a shot at close range straight at its chest. He knocked it off its feet and moved forward immediately, tackling the next blue form just as it raised its weapon, pointing it directly at Volker.

They crashed together to the floor, but not before it got off a shot.

Young pulled back before it could grab him and fired again. Dimly he was aware of Brody beside him, pulling an energy weapon free from the downed Nakai's grip and firing, taking two more out as he moved to stand over Volker while the other man got to his feet.

Scientists. Who knew?

He turned back to their six to see another group round the corner.

"Go!" he shouted to Scott, his voice echoing over the sound of the energy weapons "_Go_!"

And they were running again, Scott in the lead, Volker and Brody on his heels, Young jogging backwards, laying down cover fire.

It wasn't enough.

They were still relentlessly advancing, firing shot after shot.

"Almost there," Volker shouted back.

Young's eyes flicked forward and saw the door they were aiming for at the end of the corridor. He glanced back just in time to see an energy bolt headed straight at him. He flinched instinctively to the side and felt its heat against his temple as it passed, the plasma warming his skin, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"Go, go, _go_!" he heard Scott screaming, and then suddenly the lieutenant was beside him, firing straight down the corridor, so that between them they laid down enough cover fire that the Nakai were forced to scatter to the cross corridors or be mowed down.

"Oh _crap_," he heard Volker say behind him.

"_What,_" Young shouted over his shoulder.

"The door _won't open_," Volker yelled, over the sound of the gunfire.

"You're _kidding_ me," Young shouted.

"Working on it," Brody said.

"Well work _faster_," Scott shouted.

"There are blast doors fifteen feet in front of you," Volker called. "You can trigger them manually,"

Scott sprinted forward and ripped the panel off the wall, slamming his hand down on the door controls. Immediately, a set of metal doors shut in front of him, leaving only the open corridor to their left to cover.

At the moment, no Nakai were in sight.

Young took a deep breath.

"Should I shoot the panel?" Scott called back, pointing the energy weapon threateningly at the door controls.

"Only if you want Rush to _murder_ you," Volker replied darkly. "This isn't Star Wars, lieutenant. Just pull the control crystal out of the circuit."

Scott yanked it out in one smooth motion and pocketed it before turning back toward Young his eyes on the handheld detector. "It looks like we've got about forty seconds before they show-up in this hallway." He indicated the corridor to their left. "Actually, make that thirty."

Behind the sealed doors, they heard the sound of energy weapons impacting the metal and dissipating.

Young's fingers drummed repetitively over the barrel of his energy weapon as his eyes scanned the corridor.

"How many did we get, do you think?" he murmured to Scott.

"At least eight," Scott replied, his eyes flicking down to his monitor and back up repetitively.

Young nodded. "My count was nine." He looked back over his shoulder. "How we doing, guys?"

"Not good," Brody said.

"Almost there," Volker responded at the same time.

"Well, you have about twelve seconds," Young said, looking down at the monitor as he shouldered his weapon, trying to ignore the raw pain in his forearms.

"So no pressure then," Volker said, a screwdriver between his teeth.

There was a click, and then a hiss, as the door opened.

They ducked inside before the Nakai made it around the corner. The door slid shut behind them, and they all breathed a sigh of relief. Scott reached over and yanked the control crystal out of the door.

"Please tell me there's more than one way out of here," Young said, looking at the long, dark room that was mostly empty other than a few monitor banks and an interface that was built into the wall.

"Yup," Brody said shortly. "There's an access point to the starboard bank of FTL power cells at the other end of the room." He pulled the lifesigns detector down from Scott's angled hold, looked at it briefly and then pointed. "Here," he said.

A pained hiss from Volker caused everyone to look up. The scientist was trying to get a look at his own shoulder, which had clearly taken part of an energy blast from a Nakai weapon.

"Hang tight," Scott said, covering the distance that separated them in two quick strides. He put a hand on Volker's elbow to steady him, and then took a close look at the shoulder. "You're okay," he said quietly. "Looks like a third degree burn, but it's just a narrow patch—I bet it hurts like heck though."

"Yeah," Volker breathed. "Okay. I'm good. Let's shut this thing down."

He and Brody went to work as Scott and Young stood together, studying the lifesigns detector, trying to get a picture of what was going on in the rest of the ship. Most of the pale blue dots that indicated human lifesigns were clustered in the mess, where—

"Shit," Young breathed. "_Shit_."

"They're in the _mess_?" Scott murmured, going pale. "They weren't there when we looked before—they must have just broken through. God. _God._ All the civilians—"

"There are only four Nakai in there," Young said quietly, his eyes scanning the patterns they were making. "The rest are in the corridors. Watch." He broke off, his eyes narrowing. "They're doing sweeps. They're looking for something."

"Us?" Scott asked, his eyes flicking to Young.

"Rush," Young said.

"How would they know that he's—"

"They know," Young said shortly. "They knew before _we_ did that there was something different about him."

"What do you mean?" Scott whispered.

"Because of what Telford did, the Nakai couldn't change him, like they changed Chloe," Young said, speaking quietly, synthesizing the information he'd been piecing together since his inebriated conversation with Rush weeks previous. "They failed to get anything out of him. They failed to alter his mind. That's why they implanted him with that transmitter. They were always planning on giving him back."

"So what's the plan?" Scott murmured.

"We take this ship back by inches," Young growled. "But in order to do that, we've got to cut these things off from any help that might be out there by shutting down the gate and restoring FTL. If they can get reinforcements on board, or supplement their computer virus, it's all over for us."

Scott nodded.

"It looks like we've lost the bridge and the mess, but we're holding the infirmary and the control interface room," Young murmured. "Thank god. _That_ room, we absolutely cannot lose."

"That's where Rush is?" Scott asked quietly.

Young nodded. "Rush and Eli."

They were quiet for a moment.

"I uh—I wonder where Chloe is."

The question sent a chill down Young's spine. He had nearly forgotten about her, and he couldn't afford to do so.

She was a wild card, and he certainly did _not_ want her ending up in the hands of the Nakai.

Young cleared his throat. "She could be in the infirmary."

Probably, she was in the mess.

"Yeah," Scott said softly. "Yeah, she could."

An abrupt shower of sparks rained down from the wall interface where Volker and Brody had been working. The two scientists jumped back, startled, as the room faded into utter darkness.

After a brief moment, Volker pulled out his iPhone and began using it as a flashlight.

"I take it this is a good sign?" Young asked dryly.

"The gate should be off," Brody confirmed.

"_Should be_?" Young echoed.

"Yeah. That's what I said. It _should_ be. We'll have to confirm it visually—"

"Fine," Young said breaking in. "You can do that after you figure out how to power up the FTL drive."

They stared at him in dismay.

"That's going to be really—"

"Look. Guys. You're all we've got right now. Park is probably in the mess, which has been taken by the Nakai. Eli is trying to get this virus out of Destiny's computer system without killing us all or deleting the AI. Rush is out of commission. So you're going to have to figure out how to power up that drive and then you're going to have to _make it happen_. Got it?"

"Um, yeah," Volker said.

Brody nodded.

"Okay, now Scott and I—"

"Colonel."

Something in Scott's tone made Young's blood turn icy in his veins. He turned to see the lieutenant looking down at the handheld monitor, his expression grim and set.

"What," Young asked, already knowing the answer.

"The Nakai just moved on the control interface room."


	27. Chapter 27

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting. It contains a little tip of the hat to Carl Sagan.

* * *

><p>They moved quietly through the pitch darkness, Volker's iPhone providing the only light as they passed through the ductwork into a long narrow chamber lined with FTL cells. The space was large enough to fit the modular components that made up the drive and provided a bit more room to move than the passages they'd been in previously.<p>

After two or three minutes of making their way forward, bent double in the access tunnel, they reentered a portion of the ship that wasn't affected by the minor power outage that Brody and Volker had just caused.

As they passed into the pale blue emergency lighting, they came to a halt.

"This is where we part ways," Volker whispered, his voice barely audible despite the lack of Nakai presence in this portion of the ship.

Young nodded shortly, his hand moving to the metal wall to steady himself against a brief surge of vertigo. He reached over to take the lifesigns detector from Scott, offering it to Brody.

Brody shook his head. "You guys are will need it more."

"There's hardly any activity in this part of the ship," Volker whispered.

"For now," Young said darkly. "As soon as you bring that drive online they're going to descend on your position like you wouldn't believe."

Volker and Brody looked at each other. "Keep it," Brody insisted quietly, handing it back to him.

Young took the device. "Watch your backs," he said.

They nodded and vanished around a corner, heading deeper into the FTL drive.

Young and Scott locked eyes.

"CI room?" Scott whispered.

There was nothing, _nothing_ that Young wanted more than to move _immediately_ on the control interface room and pull Rush the _hell_ out of there.

He looked down at the lifesigns detector, now showing the same four human dots, distressingly accompanied by six Nakai.

The fact was, however, that even if, _somehow_, they succeeded in evading and or taking down the Nakai patrols that were moving through the corridors, even if they were able to make a move on the room, and either through surprise or some other tactical advantage, they were able to take it back, the entire complement of Nakai would then converge on their position. There was no exit from that room, and in the unlikely event they were able to find or make a point of egress, there would be _no_ _way_ to drag Rush through the walls. The scientist was profoundly unconscious. Young had been periodically brushing against his thoughts since he saw the Nakai make their move on the control interface room, but he'd gotten nothing in return except for a swirling darkness.

Hopefully unconsciousness would be sufficient to protect his mind from the Nakai.

"No," Young said. "We move on the mess. We need to cut down their numbers and we need some additional firepower." His eyes scanned the lifesigns detector. He was able to identify himself and Scott, Volker and Brody, but there was one pale blue dot, halfway across the ship, that seemed to be on its own. He watched it for a moment, his eyes narrowed as it approached and then _eliminated_ a party of three Nakai from behind.

Interesting. Varro, perhaps? Or James? Whomever it was—at the moment he or she was too far away to contact.

"There's only one entrance to the mess," Scott murmured, his voice admirably level.

"I'm getting Rush and Brody to knock down some god damn walls after this," Young growled.

"Yes sir," Scott murmured in agreement, with a wan smile.

"And then I'm damn well going on leave," Young said.

That wrung a real smile out of Scott. "Where are you going to go?"

"My _quarters_, lieutenant. Let's move out."

They headed in the direction of the mess, creeping carefully along the dim hallways, keeping just ahead of the Nakai, edging around corners and into cross corridors as they tried not to draw any attention to their presence. If they could just get _inside_ the mess and kill the four Nakai that seemed to be watching the prisoners, they'd then likely be able to hold it against any kind of outside incursion attempt that the Nakai might make, hopefully cutting down enemy numbers in the process.

Involuntarily, his thoughts flashed back to Chloe's comment a few weeks ago when they had been trapped in the shuttle.

_They'll tear through the crew._

He clenched his jaw.

It was very possible that they would lose personnel in this assault.

It was possible that they _already had_.

Soon, too soon, he and Scott were standing silently, barely daring to breathe in a corridor across from the mess.

The door to the room was open, and two Nakai stood outside.

For a room full of people, it was hideously silent.

Young's eyes flicked between the monitor in his hand and the open doorway.

The scream of a woman in horrific pain tore through the air, sending a chill down his spine, tightening a vise around his chest.

It was Wray.

Beside him, Scott jerked involuntarily, his muscles tightening. Young put an arm across his chest, holding him back, his eyes still on the screen in his hand.

Wray was so delicate. So delicate and so _careful_, and so straight-shouldered—

The echo of her scream faded to nothing.

Young pocketed the monitor as the set of dots he had been watching vanished around a corner.

He nodded to Scott.

They exploded out of the cover of the corridor. The Nakai at the doorway were dead before they had time to get off a shot, but Young could feel their frail, dying thoughts like the wings of butterflies over raw, bleeding skin, warning the others, warning those in the room.

They came through the doorway, Scott firing with one hand even as he turned to seal the door behind them. Two Nakai converged on Young immediately, their hands out, pale in the dim light, reaching for his temples, their thoughts stretching into his mind. As he took one out, the kickback of the energy weapon reverberated painfully down his injured back, down his arms and the other was close, still coming, still so _close_ and if—

James sprang out of a crouch, weaponless, launching herself at the Nakai, taking it down to the floor—

"Get down, _GET DOWN_!" Scott was shouting to the civilians over the sound of energy weapons discharging.

Young saw someone in the corner of his eye take a hit—

He couldn't get a clear shot, and James was _beneath_ it now, its hand closed around her throat and she was trying to scream as it tore through her mind, but there was _no sound._ He moved forward, pulling it off her in quarters that were too close to fire so he flipped his weapon around and smashed it into the thing's head and then _everyone_ seemed to be screaming at once as he brought his weapon up, sighting down the barrel at the last of them. At the one who still had ahold of Wray. _Again_ he _didn't have a clear shot_ and he—

Hesitated.

The thing locked eyes with him, hissing in satisfaction, as if it had understood something.

As if it had gained some insight.

He could feel its thoughts fold outward, painful against his own, transmitting information, broadcasting something that Young couldn't understand to every Nakai in range until Varro emerged directly behind it and smashed it to the ground with an energy weapon he had pulled off the one that Scott had killed.

The former Lucian Alliance member kicked the Nakai away from Wray and shot it.

The mess was theirs.

"Secure the room," Young shouted, his eyes scanning over the crew, making sure he hadn't overlooked any outstanding threats.

And then—god.

He didn't know where to turn first.

He dropped to his knees beside Wray.

She was closest, and she was alone, the center of a cleared circle that was empty of anything but the dead Nakai that had tortured her.

Gently, Young pulled the sweep of dark hair away from her face, one hand behind her neck as he turned her carefully onto her back. He had thought, from the way she was lying, as if she had shattered on the floor—that she was unconscious, but she wasn't.

She _wasn't_.

Her expression was twisted with pain, with grief, tears leaking from the corners of her bloodshot eyes as she tried to turn away, tried to bring a shaking hand to her face.

"Camile," he murmured, his hands running over her shoulders, her arms, checking for injuries, broken bones, blood loss, before pulling her up, slowly, carefully, wrapping both of his abraded arms around her as she sobbed into his shoulder.

It was only because her mouth was a few inches from his ear that he heard her say, "Sharon."

"Shh," he whispered, watching Becker hover over James, his hands on her shoulders, talking to her as she drew in pained, gasping breaths.

"I told them," Wray said into his shoulder, her voice tight and strained and almost inaudible. "Everything I knew. Everything I _am_—"

"You can't fight them," he murmured. "No one can."

It was true.

Mostly.

"They knew it all anyway," he whispered.

"Not all of it," she said, her voice high, tightened down to a whisper. "Their understanding is becoming—more nuanced." He could feel her vibrate with her attempt to restore her professional tone, but her voice wavered and she did not let him go. "I could feel it."

"Not your fault," he murmured. "Not your fault."

"They know about the AI," she whispered, her voice breaking. "And they know about you. They know you're linked to—" she broke off, as her throat closed up entirely.

He shut his eyes briefly. "Okay," he said quietly. "Okay."

He looked around, eyes scanning the faces in the room. He picked out Park, who wasn't far from his position and caught her eye, motioning her over with his head. Carefully he lowered Wray back down to the deck plating. She looked at him, her skin pale, covered with a thin sheen of sweat, the whites of her eyes a terrible, bloody red.

"Stay with her," he said quietly to Park, as he got to his feet.

Park nodded.

He stood, meeting Scott's eyes across the mess before dropping down briefly next to James.

"Lieutenant?" he asked her.

"I'm okay, sir," she said, coughing weakly, her face pale, bruises already starting to spring up in a ring around her neck. "But Barnes took a hit—trying to help Wray," her voice faded to a ragged whisper.

Young nodded and got to his feet. He walked twenty paces and dropped down next to Dunning who was cutting open the left side of Barnes' jacket.

"Hey, corporal," Young said, pushing her back as she tried to turn, her eyes glassy. "Take it easy."

"Shit," Dunning hissed under his breath, "_shit_."

Young shot him a sharp look and then pulled back the jacket. Across the young woman's left side and back there was a wide, bleeding energy burn that had seared away part of her skin. The wound glistened ominously in the dim blue light.

She hadn't taken a full blast.

"Fisher," he called to the scientist nearest him. "Find a med kit."

His head snapped up as he heard the grinding sound of the door controls. The Nakai were trying to break back in. He pulled out his lifesigns detector. Fifteen of them, maybe more, had massed in front of the doors.

He'd expected this.

Just—not quite so soon.

"_Scott_," he called, his voice carrying over the buzz of conversation that had erupted through the mess. "Tables!"

Immediately the younger man started organizing a team to flip over and drag the metal mess tables into an impromptu barricade. He left Fisher to look after Barnes, forcing himself to his feet.

He stood too quickly and the room spun around him. He might have fallen if it hadn't been for the sudden appearance of Varro at his elbow, steadying him.

"Easy," Varro said. "You with us, colonel?"

"Yeah," Young nodded shortly at the other man. "Look, I could use some help right now. We're about to have a _pitched battle_ in here, and I need the civilians to the back, the wounded protected, and everyone with a gun to the front. Can you—"

Varro nodded back at him and turned. "Wounded to the back," the other man shouted as he knelt to carefully pick up Camile.

Within the span of three minutes they were ready, Scott again positioned beside him, behind one of the overturned tables.

They knelt together in the dim light, looking out at the doors. As they watched, the mechanism in the wall made another low, grinding sound and a few inches of blue light appeared through the crack in the metal.

"Did you find Chloe?" Young whispered to Scott.

"No," the other man sounded relieved. "She must be in the infirmary."

"Yeah," Young said, looking again at the lone blue dot on his monitor. It was approaching the mess. "Yeah, she must be."

The door ground open a few more inches.

"We've got some wounded," Scott whispered, "but no known casualties. Not yet."

"Anyone get—interrogated?" Young asked, "Besides Camile?"

"No," Scott said. "I don't think so. But I heard from Baras that they were at her a long time. A very long time."

"Yeah," Young murmured. "I got that impression."

The door ground open a few more inches.

Young's hands tightened on the Nakai weapon. He brought it to his shoulder.

Next to him, Varro moved into position, crouching behind the metal table. "Any second now," the other man murmured. "They've got ahold of the door. When they pry it open—" he broke off, shooting Young a glance from the corner of his eye before he brought his own borrowed energy weapon up, sighting along the barrel.

Young could see icy blue fingers reflecting the emergency lighting as they curled through the space between the doors.

With the horrendous shriek of shearing metal, the doors gave way and the Nakai charged through.

The sound of energy weapons discharging was deafening, the blasts burning streaks across Young's retinas as they impacted the walls, the Nakai, the tables.

Reynolds took a hit almost immediately and, in Young's peripheral vision, he saw James and Becker come forward and drag him back to the line of civilians. A moment later, James came forward again, her hands closed around Reynolds' weapon.

The Nakai pressed forward relentlessly, hissing, screaming in rage, in anger, in fear—Young couldn't tell. They were crossing the open space, laying down so much fire that the metal tables were slowly sliding back toward the huddled civilian line.

In the hallway outside the room, he heard the unmistakable sound of a single assault rifle advancing on their position, pulling a flanking maneuver on the Nakai.

The table in front of Young was yanked away and thrown across the room by the first two Nakai to reach their position. He fired a broad burst, at close range, knocking them back.

"_Hold the line_," he roared over the gunfire, knowing that if they broke ranks the Nakai would have a straight shot back to through to the civilians. He stood his ground, shoulder-to-shoulder with Varro and Scott. Against the open doorway he was peripherally aware of a dark silhouette, slipping through the warped metal frame and then melting into the shadows near the back wall.

Because he was listening for it, he heard single shots begin to ring out from across the room.

The adjacent table was yanked sideways, partially exposing James, Baras, Becker, and Chu. He heard the unmistakable click of James running out of ammunition.

"_James_," Varro yelled as he tossed her his energy weapon, pulling his knife from his belt as he stepped forward, ducking under the weapon of the nearest Nakai to move in with his blade. Young shifted his firing pattern to cover him, moving away from Scott slightly as he worked to get a better angle.

A blow from the base of an energy weapon smashed into the side of his jaw, knocking him back to the floor and he felt a long-fingered, cold hand close around his ankle, dragging him forward, out of the line, into the midst of the Nakai—

A single shot from behind dropped the Nakai that had a grip on him. It released him as it collapsed forward, falling across his chest, its blue-tinged blood soaking his uniform, running over the side of his neck, into his hair, before he pushed himself back, and up, and _away_. Scott's hand closed around his upper arm, yanking him off the floor as he began to fire again.

In his peripheral vision he saw Baras take a blast in the thigh, falling back with a strangled cry as James stepped laterally to fill the gap.

How many had they killed?

His focus narrowed to the confines of the room. His breathing tore raggedly in his throat. Beside him, Varro was starting to slow.

Three Nakai made another concerted attempt to pull him out of the line. Hands curling into his jacket, unnaturally strong, unnaturally cold, puling inexorably forward, drawing him into—

Varro reached out and viciously yanked him back as Young brought his weapon up, firing a broad burst.

There was no question about it—they were targeting him specifically.

Single shots continued to ring out from the edge of the room, until, finally—

The Nakai stopped coming

Young gasped for breath, collapsing back into Scott, who managed to take his weight but couldn't keep his own footing. They buckled to the deck in a disorganized tangle.

"Cover the _door_," Young called out, his voice cracking as he tried to get back to his knees. "We need to secure this room, people," he shouted, his voice recovering.

He forced himself to his feet, forced himself forward, across the room, heading straight for the sniper near the door.

Chloe stepped into the light to meet him, her chin angled up, one cheek streaked with dirt or blood, tear tracks visible through the grime.

"Come here, kiddo," he said, taking her arm, pulling her forward into a hug, laughing once in relieved disbelief, the sound muffled by her hair. "My god. What the _hell_ are you doing?"

Her arms tightened around him briefly, but then she pulled back. "I'm okay, colonel," she said, her voice wavering, but her gaze steady. "Did you—did you know it was me?"

"I thought it might be," he murmured, his hands still on her shoulders. "But I wasn't sure whose side you were going to end up being on."

Chloe looked down, nodding once. "Colonel, you need to know—I passed the observation deck earlier and the other two Nakai ships have dropped out. It's hard to tell distances, but I'd say they're only a few tens of kilometers to port. They seem to be—waiting for something."

Her eyes flicked out to take in someone behind him.

"Do you know if they've taken anyone off the ship?" he asked her urgently.

"Not that I know of," she replied. "The last I saw, they hadn't launched any fighters. The Nakai on board must have a way to communicate with them."

Again, her eyes flicked away from him, out into the room.

"Go on," he murmured, shoving her in Scott's direction, watching her incredulously for a moment, before turning away to pull the lifesigns detector out of his pocket.

Their battle had made a significant dent in the numbers of the Nakai. TJ continued to hold the infirmary and they now controlled the mess. They needed to hang on to what they had and advance.

He glanced back to take in Scott, his arms wrapped tight around Chloe. Her assault rifle was on the floor.

He gave them a five count, then snapped, "Scott, Chloe, Varro, Becker, James, Dunning, Thomas, Chu. Form up."

They jogged over. "Airman, Lieutenant," he snapped looking at Chu and Thomas. "You're going to organize defenses here. After we move out, you shore up the doors, set up a line, and see to the wounded. Get Park working on the door mechanism—see if you can't shut it and lock it. I don't want to have to come back here to liberate the god damned mess _again_, you got that? So you _hold _it."

"Yes sir," Chu replied crisply. Thomas nodded sharply. "Understood," he added.

Young hoped he wasn't giving them an impossible task.

"Everyone else, find a weapon. We're moving out."

Scott looked at him in surprise, his eyes flicking between Young and Chloe.

"Chloe," Young snapped, waving her over.

Scott accompanied her. When she was close, he said, "You think you can hold out against them, mentally, if we get into close quarters for a long period?"

She looked at him for a long moment, her expression unsure. "I'm not positive," she said finally.

"I don't want a repeat of what happened last time," he murmured. "If you feel like you're going to be compromised, I want you as far away from these things as you can get. You _go_. Got it?"

"Got it," she whispered back.

"Sir," Scott said, bringing a shaking hand up and running it through his hair. "I don't know if this is such a good idea."

Young didn't much like it either, but he needed every advantage he could get.

"She's in better shape than _you_ are at the moment, lieutenant," Young snapped, "and she's probably taken out almost as many of these things as we have at this point. We could use her."

"I'll be fine, Matt," Chloe said. "I can sense them."

"You can _what_?" he replied.

"Sense them," she repeated. "That's how I was able to avoid being captured."

Young raised his eyebrows wryly. "And how you were able to make your way to the armory and outfit yourself. That flak jacket is a little big on you, though. With all the tiny women on this ship we need to start stocking extra small jackets."

Chloe gave him a ghost of a smile. "Where's Rush?" she asked. "And Eli?"

"Control interface room," he murmured, watching Dunning and Becker pulling energy weapons off the dead Nakai. "Both of them."

"The Nakai have taken that room," Chloe whispered, her expression locked.

Young nodded shortly. "We're going to take it back."

"They're going to suspect that we're coming," Chloe murmured. "I passed the room on my way here. They've sealed the door."

"Do you know how to hot-wire an Ancient doorway?" he asked.

Chloe shook her head. "Only the basics, and that's—probably not going to be enough here."

"We have to treat this like a hostage situation," Scott said quietly. "We could force our way in there only to find everyone at gunpoint. We need flash grenades. Or tear gas. Would tear gas even affect the Nakai?"

"Only one way to find out," Young murmured. "We've got crates of the stuff from Homeworld Command. We just have to get to it."

His assault team had formed up, outfitted with either Nakai or Earth based weapons.

"You think you're up to this, colonel?" Varro said, giving him a skeptical look. "Not sure if you're aware of it, but it looks like you've lost an awful lot of blood. You've got some kind of wound on your back—"

"It's fine," Young replied. "Looks worse than it is."

"You could sit this one out," Varro said cautiously.

"I don't think so," Young said, his tone clipped. He turned to address the small group around him. "Listen up people. We're heading to the control interface room. We've got four people inside in unknown condition. We've also got six Nakai in the room itself, and we'll likely run into more in the hallway outside. We're going to try to gain the upper hand by using a combination of tear gas and flash grenades, but it could get—" he paused, "intense. It's going to be dark, and the tear gas is going to obscure everything, so I want everyone to be _extremely_ careful. I don't want _any_ hits from friendlies. You fire only if you've got a clean shot. Am I clear?"

He got nods all around.

"Let's move out," he snapped.

Again he reached out, letting his thoughts brush against Rush's mind, the touch subtle. He'd intended it to be brief, but a strange sense of pressure was building in the other man's mind, raw and aching.

_Shit_.

In all likelihood, the Nakai were trying to break into the scientist's mind. At the moment there was nothing Young could do, other than hope that unconsciousness was a defense, rather than a weakness; hope that they were incapable of hurting him when he was like this; hope that he, and the AI, and the chair would be able to pick up the pieces when this was over.

* * *

><p>Using a combination of the handheld monitor and Chloe to avoid the Nakai, it took them nearly an hour to wind their way carefully from the mess to the supply room where they outfitted themselves with C4, gas masks, stun grenades, and tear gas, and then back to a small conference room in a hallway near the control interface room to regroup.<p>

"We're going to blow the door mechanism with a small amount of C4," Young whispered, "and then we're going to get the flash grenades through, followed by the tear gas." He looked around at all of them. "Varro and Dunning," Young murmured, "you're the rearguard. You're going to keep these things off our asses as we move into the room. It's likely to get very heavy very quickly, so be prepared." He glanced at the rest of the team. "We're going to advance into the room, two by two. Scott and I will be first. Then James and Becker. Chloe, I want you last and on your own. Use your judgment about whether to stay in the hallway or advance into the room. Remember what I said about clear shots. And look sharp. If the tear gas doesn't affect them, they'll have better visuals on _us_ than we will on _them_ with all the smoke, since they know where we're coming from."

He got nods all around.

They moved out, the tread of their boots quiet against the deck plating.

In the back of his mind, a glittering city flared brightly, turrets shining white in the light, surrounded by sun-drenched water, echoing with the calls of the sea birds before fading down to again to darkness.

_Shit_.

That had unquestionably come from _Rush_.

Behind Young's eyes, a headache began to build.

He tried his best to keep his breathing even as he shoved the scientist's consciousness back down.

He glanced at Chloe, who held the monitor, matching what she could hear in her thoughts with the information on the screen. She nodded once at him.

He and Scott separated from the rest of the group, slipping into the hallway where the control interface room was located.

They had to _take_ it, and they had to _hold_ it, and they couldn't lose _anyone_.

Not anyone.

Young covered Scott as he pulled out the C4 he was carrying. The other man attached the detonation device into the deformable explosive and pressed a fraction of the block into the crack of the doors near the locking mechanism.

They then ducked around a corner, meeting the rest of the team as they came forward.

He felt an ascending pressure at the back of his mind and then—

_His vision bursts into white, reforming into the long sunlit room of an Ancient hospital ward where he stands in the doorway, looking down at the line of beds lit to blinding by the bright glare coming through crystal windows. There are _so many of them_, all sick, all dying, but they've removed the automatic tinting from the windows because the news feed had announced as recently as that morning that Atlantis would be leaving. From here, they'll have a spectacular view of it as it ascends, untouched, uninfected, to make a new start—leaving them, _leaving them,_ behind. He walks down the long floor, the warm tiles gleaming under his feet, past his patients, and to the window to stand next to one of the other doctors. _

_She turns toward him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears._

"_Est filia tua in urbe?" she asks him._

"_Etiam. Item ibidem," he replies._

For the first time in _weeks_, Young blocked Rush out of his mind.

He staggered slightly, fighting the pain in his head.

Scott reached out to steady him, and Young leaned into his grip, trying to get his feet underneath him.

"Colonel," Scott, whispered, his mouth close to Young's ear.

"They're trying to wake Rush up," Young murmured back, shaking his head, trying to recover his equilibrium. "We've got to move _now_."

Scott nodded, his hands closing around Young's upper arms.

"Masks," Young snapped, straightening as he pulled his own down over his face, watching the rest of them follow suit. He reached over to adjust Chloe's, strapping it tightly against her chin.

They were ready.

Tense with anticipation.

Scott locked eyes with Young. "Fire in the hole," he whispered, pressing his thumb down on the detonator.

They burst out into the hallway to see a cloud of smoke, smoldering sparks, and a six inch wide gap between the doors of the control interface room. Young yanked the pins out of two flash grenades as Scott did likewise and tossed them through into the room.

James and Becker were just behind them with the tear gas.

As a unit, his team knelt, shutting their eyes, covering their ears.

Despite his precautions, Young was slightly unbalanced by the bright flare of the flash grenade.

Then, they were up, Young and Varro and Dunning and Scott forcing the doors apart by inches until, _finally_—

Young was first into the room.

The blue lighting caught the smoke from the tear gas, turning it an opaque white. He saw Telford, one hand over his mouth, his eyes streaming, narrowed to slits, tackle the Nakai that was taking aim at him. Young moved forward, his weapon up, firing at the Nakai positioned next to the door as Scott came through behind him, tackling him to the floor as an energy blast sailed over their heads to impact the metal wall and dissipate.

One down.

In his peripheral vision, Young saw Greer sweep the legs of the Nakai that was standing behind him as he lunged to his feet, grabbing a chair and swinging it into something obscured by the teargas that Young couldn't make out.

Near the left wall, he heard Eli coughing, trying to breathe.

James came through the doorway, narrowly avoiding a burst of weapons fire as she dived and rolled, coming up next to Telford, kicking the Nakai that he was grappling with in the head once—twice, and then, when she was sure her shot was clear, she fired.

Two down.

Where the _fuck_ was Rush?

Becker dove forward into the room ducking beneath a burst from a plasma weapon as the tear gas grenades continued to hiss, releasing more of their white, acidic smoke.

Shit.

He couldn't see a goddamned—

One of them tackled him from the side, taking him down to the deck plating. An abrading, horrible pain screamed up his back, over his arms, but he managed to get his gun around and fire off a shot at close range, the energy carrying the thing back away from him before it got a chance to tear into his mind.

Three.

From his position on the floor, he saw Chloe enter the room, silent and small, crouching low in the doorway and slipping past him, keeping to the wall, her presence going unnoticed by the Nakai.

Young pushed himself up to his knees, his muscles shaking with the effort as Scott waded forward into the opaque mist, making for Greer, joining the mass of swirling smoke that concealed the back of the room.

A hiss from his left drew his attention, and he looked over to see Eli emerging from the smoke, one hand covering his eyes, nearly doubled over coughing, and held in the grip of one of the Nakai.

It pressed an energy weapon to the back of his head as it locked eyes with Young, hissing at him triumphantly.

He had been afraid of this.

No one fired.

It hissed again, shaking Eli slightly, pushing him forward, toward the door.

Coming away from the wall, bringing her gun up in a smooth fast arc as she advanced out of the smoke, Chloe pressed the tip of her assault rifle to the underside of its jaw and fired.

A single shot.

Young surged forward, pulling Eli toward him, then shoving him at the door. "Get him _out_ of here," he shouted to Chloe, and she grabbed Eli's upper arm, leading him out of the room, away from the tear gas.

Four.

Telford was at his side, trying to straighten, choking on the acrid air, barely holding onto the Nakai weapon he'd picked up.

"Go!" Young shouted at him, shoving him toward the door, in the direction of the clean air outside. Telford resisted, shaking his head. "_Go_," Young repeated. "Cover the hallway. More are coming."

Scott emerged from the back of the room, dragging Greer, firing two short bursts with his weapon.

Young heard a shrieking hiss as something impacted the deck.

Five.

There was one more still out there. He couldn't see it, but he could _feel_ its thoughts, broadcasting fast and _far_, and heavy with content.

He was tempted to take down the block between his mind and Rush's in order to locate the other man, but he didn't dare.

His weapon at his shoulder, Young edged forward into the opaque white cloud. He felt James fall in at his side, her muscles shaking with tension as they advanced, her eyes narrowed, tracing the bulky shape of monitors in the dimness, trying to orient themselves.

Visibility was no more than three feet in front of his face.

Young scanned the smoke, looking for the long, angular outline of the last Nakai, for the unsettling bend of its narrow limbs.

He didn't see it, or Rush, until he was practically on top of them.

Rush was draped on top of the monitor bank in a heart-stopping, lifeless sprawl, one hand trailing toward the floor. Beneath him, the touch-screens and keyboards were dark and dead. The final Nakai was standing over him, reaching forward, one hand at its own head, its fingers over a small metallic receiver while the other hand pressed against a transmitter affixed to Rush's temple.

It looked up at him as he approached, its black eyes unreadable, hissing softly as its fingers tightened on the device.

It was sacrificing its last moments, its last _seconds,_ to transmit as much information as possible to its crewmates. Not just on this ship, but possibly on the others as well.

Young didn't hesitate. He and James fired at the same time and it fell back into the mist.

Young darted forward, shoving his gun in James' direction as he reached out to rip the device off Rush's temple. He threw it aside, and then, ignoring the pain in his forearms and back, he slid his arms carefully beneath Rush as James covered him, scanning the corners of the room watchfully.

As soon as Young touched the other man, the pain behind his eyes intensified despite the block he was still maintaining. A strange ache flowered in his lungs.

Rush was an absolute deadweight, his head falling back, his hair fanning out as Young pulled him off the monitor bank.

With James right behind him, they emerged back into the cleaner air of the corridor, into the midst of another firefight. He dropped into a crouch and laid Rush out on the deck plating next to Eli, who was kneeling against the wall, still coughing, his head down, curled into himself. Telford, his eyes still streaming from the gas, had joined Dunning, Varro, and Scott where they were arrayed across the corridor.

Young's hand closed around Chloe's upper arm and he pulled her in close. "You've got to find us a path," he shouted over the roar of the weapons. "We can't stay here."

She nodded, pulling out the lifesigns detector.

"Prepare to fall back," Young roared. "Eli," he said. "Up. Let's go." Young pulled off his mask and moved to pick up Rush again, but Greer had beaten him to it.

"I've got him," the sergeant said. "You're bleeding all over the damn place."

Young nodded. He'd probably last about all of three minutes carrying the other man before he passed out himself. He grabbed his weapon and joined Chloe on point, watching their progress on the lifesigns detector.

"We need somewhere to regroup," Young said. "Maybe—"

The overhead lights flickered, briefly plunging them into darkness.

Then came the unmistakable hum of the drive and the sensation of Destiny jumping into FTL.

Volker and Brody.

Behind them, the attacking Nakai released a synchronized shriek of anger, surging forward aggressively, forcing Scott, Telford, Varro and Dunning to jog backward as they fired, trying to stay ahead of the advancing group. Chloe ducked around a corner and they all followed, using the limited cover to take out most of their pursuit.

Ahead and to their left was the long, open room that Brody had converted to a distillery. That seemed to be Chloe's target.

Young motioned Greer and Eli to go ahead and then turned back to join the other four in mopping up their remaining pursuers.

After a few minutes, the coast was clear.

Telford ducked forward to grab two more weapons from the fallen Nakai while Young reached out, steadying Scott as the younger man swayed, one hand coming around to gingerly touch the soaked material of Brody's shirt that was still wrapped around his shoulder.

"Almost there," Young murmured to him, feeling none too steady himself.

"Fuck, Everett," Telford whispered, his voice hoarse from the gas. "How the _hell_ are you two even standing? You both look like shit."

"Yeah," Young snapped tightly as they turned, following Chloe to the workroom she had chosen. "What the _hell_ happened to Rush?"

"We put him out," Telford said shortly. "He was losing it."

"I see," Young growled. "And you just happened to be carrying _tranquilizers_ around with you? That's convenient."

They passed through the door, and Scott closed it behind them, again removing the control crystal.

Young's eyes flicked over to see Greer put Rush on one of the tables and then move two fingers to Rush's throat watching him intently.

"What exactly are you implying?" Telford hissed. "I got it from _TJ_ when she came into the gateroom before they arrived. I probably saved not just his sanity, but also his _life_ by putting him out. You think the Nakai would have—"

"Congratulations," Young snarled, stepping forward. "I'll be sure to put a commendation in your file right after I fucking write you up for _assaulting_ a _civilian_ whom you were charged with _protecting_ you son of a _bitch_—"

"Are you _insane_?" Telford asked, the volume of his voice rising.

"What the _fuck_ did you _give_ _him_?" Young shouted, stepping forward.

"Whoa," Varro said, moving in, both hands extended. "Guys, this is not the place to hash this out—"

"_Ativan_," Telford said, his hands open, "Jesus Christ, Everett, I gave him a truckload of Ativan. TJ requested it from Earth, it's perfectly safe—"

"You don't know how the _hell_ he's going to react to _that_—" Young said. "He's not even half—"

He stopped himself.

The room was silent.

Slowly, Greer moved forward.

"Half _what_?" Telford said, his eyes narrowing.

Young looked away.

"Half. _What_." Telford said again.

"Leave it alone, David," Young replied, his voice low and dangerous as he looked back at Telford, pinning the man with his stare.

Telford threw up his hands, turning away, a frustrated sigh escaping in a hiss between his teeth. He paced away a few steps, his head bowed, before turning around to look at Young.

No one spoke for a moment.

"Chloe," Young said, recovering his equilibrium somewhat. "Let me see that lifesigns detector." He took the monitor from her, studying it for a moment before looking up. "By my count there are about twenty of these things left on board. They're mostly in one of two locations—either on the bridge, or approaching the FTL drive, likely with the intent of shutting it down."

He frowned, watching the pale blue dots he knew to be Brody and Volker staying just ahead of the advancing Nakai.

He fought down a sudden wave of dizziness and moved to sit in one of the empty chairs.

Telford glared at him in irritation, his arms crossed defensively over his chest.

God, Young felt terrible.

"You okay, sir?" Greer asked quietly. Young looked up at him, taking in Greer's split lip. The sergeant had also been clipped by an energy blast—the shoulder of his uniform was singed and blackened and a still-damp stain of blood had soaked through his jacket.

"Yeah," Young said shortly, but over Greer's words he could hear a dull buzzing in his ears.

His heart had started to beat wildly in his chest.

His vision began to gray at the edges.

He didn't understand.

He'd been injured, certainly but—this—something was rapidly going wrong.

Very wrong.

He couldn't maintain his block with Rush and he let it fracture and then fall entirely—

_Rush_.

Fucking _of course _it was _Rush_.

The other man's mind was a mess of memories that weren't his. Rush was dreaming, or delirious, or just mentally misfiring—but all the same, he was struggling desperately to claw his way back to consciousness because something was _wrong_ with him, something was—

Young shot to his feet, nearly overbalancing, and maddeningly, Varro was holding him up, holding him _back_, and Rush was _not breathing_.

"Greer," Young gasped, looking at the scientist.

Greer was on his feet immediately, like he knew _exactly_ what was happening. The sergeant reached out, tipping Rush's head back, opening his airway, watching him intently for any kind of movement.

Young tore away from Varro, joining Greer, the room spinning unsteadily around him as the sergeant opened Rush's mouth, did a quick finger sweep, and then performed two careful rescue breaths.

"He's not _breathing_?" Scott murmured, appearing abruptly next to Young, grabbing his elbow, guiding him down to sit as his knees gave way.

"I thought we were _done _with this," Eli whispered, sounding utterly miserable.

Greer had his fingers at Rush's throat. "He's still got a pulse," Greer said. "Come on, Doc," he murmured. "Quit it."

"This happened _before_?" Young demanded.

"Yeah," Greer said shortly. "Couple of times, right after he took the drug. It never got this far before we caught it though, and it hasn't been a problem for hours. I thought we were _done_ with this _shit_." He tipped Rush's head back again and breathed into his lungs twice more.

"Maybe it's the tear gas," Eli said thickly, his arms wrapped across his chest, his eyes bloodshot, his face pale. "He can't cough—"

Young tried to fight the strained feeling in his lungs and tried to focus on keeping his _own _breathing steady.

Telford came forward, his face a neutral mask as he addressed Greer. "Let's do the jacket thing," he murmured quietly. Greer looked up at him, the sergeants expression just as icy as he followed Telford's example, quickly pulling his jacket off, balling it up with Telford's and then lifting Rush to slide the material under his shoulders so that his head tipped back slightly, keeping his airway open.

"Seems to help," Telford muttered shortly, opening his hands defensively before retreating back, away from Young's steady glare.

"Okay," Scott said abruptly as Young fought back another wave of dizziness and Greer leaned forward again, "Everybody back off, lets give them some space here."

Young reached forward, his hand closing over Rush's shoulder, as his mind opened, trying to sense the scientist's thoughts. An array of images stirred up by the Nakai swirled into his mind from Rush's subconscious, most of them not his own, but _given_ to him by Destiny, full of pain and disease and the abandoned _dying_—

/Come on, genius,/ Young projected, trying to stay conscious through the disorientation and the pain he was getting from the other man, and—god, it was already _so difficult_ and Rush wasn't even _awake_ yet. Not even remotely _close_ to consciousness.

After a few minutes, the sense of strain eased, and the room stopped spinning.

"He's breathing on his own," Greer said, sounding shaken. "_Finally_. Jesus Christ, Doc."

Young dropped his face into his right hand, his left curling in a fist around the loose material of Rush's jacket cuff. He stayed like that for a few seconds, then looked up at his team.

Telford looked back at Young, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression closed. "Let me take Greer, Varro, and Dunning." His eyes flicked up behind Young. "And maybe Scott. We'll move on the bridge. You and Chloe get Eli and Rush to the infirmary. If we don't make it, you can assemble another team from volunteers in the mess and give it another shot."

Young's eyes flicked over to Eli.

The young man was leaning against the table near Rush's feet, his skin chalky, his eyes a horrible, bloodshot red.

Like Wray's had been.

Eli was looking down at Rush. As Young watched, he brought the sleeve of his sweatshirt up to his nose, surreptitiously wiping away a trickle of blood.

_Shit_. He should have known right away. They'd tortured him.

Young shut his eyes.

He did _not_ want to be stuck in the infirmary while they had an active foothold situation still in progress. But—they needed Eli. They needed him to fix the computer system and now that they were back at FTL that, _certainly_, was priority number one.

Young looked up at Telford and nodded shortly.

Telford nodded back.


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** After reading this chapter, please proceed to the oneshot "Cultural Sensitivity." This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>The muscles of Young's arms and chest were burning torturously, his abraded forearms felt like they were on fire as he carried Rush through dimly lit corridors.<p>

Injuries and blood loss and exhaustion would have made the trek difficult under normal circumstances, but with Rush's damaged, painful thoughts firing randomly against his own, with the headache that physical contact brought into sharp relief—it was nearly impossible.

Roughly thirty yards from the infirmary, Young collapsed to his knees, barely managing to control his fall into something that resembled an unbalanced but purposeful crouch.

"Colonel," Chloe's whispered, turning back in a swirl of dark hair, her hands outstretched as she knelt, steadying Rush as Young laid him on the deck plating. She tipped the scientist's head back.

"No," Young said. "It's not him. Not this time. This time it was me."

Chloe looked up at him.

"He's still breathing," Young clarified, his voice ragged.

Behind Chloe, Eli bent over, his hand on the wall.

"Chloe—" Young ground out, pointing.

Chloe whirled as Eli threw up what little gray paste still remained in his stomach, his outstretched hand pressed against the wall, his nose streaming blood.

"It's okay," Chloe whispered, hand on Eli's shoulder, her eyes on the lifesigns detector she still held. "We're almost there."

"If only that meant my day would end," Eli replied, pressing the bloodied sleeve of his gray sweatshirt to his nose.

"One step at a time," Chloe whispered. "One step at a time."

Young shut his eyes, trying to recover his equilibrium. He should have insisted that Scott accompany him, but the lieutenant had been adamant about continuing, and Telford would need all the help he could get to successfully take the bridge.

"Can you put him in a fireman's carry?" Chloe whispered, looking at Rush.

Young shook his head, his elbows resting on his knees as he held his throbbing arms directly in front of him. He'd already considered Chloe's suggestion, but with Rush's breathing as tenuous as it was, it was risky moving him at all, let alone putting him in some kind of cross-shoulder grip.

/Okay, genius,/ he projected into the dark, unfocused space of Rush's consciousness, /last stretch./

He clenched his jaw and pulled Rush off the floor, letting the other man's head fall back over his arm, trying to keep his airway as open as possible as he stood in an awkward deadlift.

"Let's go," Young whispered, between clenched teeth.

They crossed the final expanse of corridor until they found themselves outside the sealed infirmary doors.

Chloe rapped pale knuckles against the metal, Eli's arm over her shoulder.

"TJ," she said quietly, her mouth close to the door, trying to call through the metal with her low, melodic projection. "It's _us_. It's Chloe. Open the door."

Eli reached out and gave a shave and a haircut rap for good measure.

Rush was slipping out of his grip, and with a blaze of agony, Young readjusted his hold, leaning back, his hand curling around Rush's shoulder.

A complicated series of knocks came back, which Young recognized as Morse code.

_Please confirm_.

Chloe looked at him uncertainly.

"It's Morse code," he said, grimacing as he again adjusted Rush in his grip, the scientist's head heavy against his shoulder. "Tap back S.O.S."

Chloe did so.

After a few seconds, the door opened to reveal TJ, standing with an assault rifle in hand, her hair blue-white in the dimness. When she saw them, she immediately lowered her weapon, stepping aside.

"Oh god," TJ murmured quietly, her eyes sweeping over Rush, before her gaze slid sideways to take in Eli and Chloe. "All of you to the back. What _happened_? Was he injured?" Her tone was quick and sharp as she rapidly wound her way through several civilian crew members who were seated on cots, waiting out the fighting as she guided them toward the back of the infirmary.

"Long story, but no, he wasn't physically hurt," Young said hoarsely, nearly buckling under the strain of carrying Rush. "He was drugged though. Telford gave him something that he snagged from your med bag in the gate room. Look, TJ, he's stopped breathing," Young turned back to Eli, "how many times now?"

"Four," Eli answered, the word thick, muffled by his sleeve as he slid behind a computer terminal. "Four times."

"_Four_," Young repeated for emphasis.

"Something he got from _my_ bag?" TJ asked, as they rounded a corner, passing into one of the back rooms. "Do you know what it was?"

"Ativan, I think."

"Well, that could do it," TJ said quietly. "It's a respiratory depressant, and he's been pretty sensitive to sedatives in the past."

"Yeah, he also inhaled a bunch of tear gas."

"Any coughing?" TJ asked with a frown, as she grabbed her stethoscope from a table.

"No," Young replied.

He carefully laid Rush out on the gurney she indicated and staggered back, taking a deep breath.

Chloe appeared at his elbow, steadying him.

Together they watched TJ hook up monitors, start an IV, start oxygen, take vitals—

"Is there anything I can do?" Chloe asked softly.

"You could grab me some blankets," TJ murmured.

Chloe vanished.

"Are you okay?" TJ asked quietly, looking up at him with shadowed eyes. "There's blood all over your jacket."

"Mostly," Young said. "I took a dart a few hours ago, and—well you know that, you pulled it out of my back. I'm mostly okay."

"Mostly." TJ repeated skeptically, watching him carefully.

"Yeah, look, I'll explain later, but I'm fine for now. I've got to go—"

"You're going _nowhere_ until I clear you," TJ said.

"TJ, this is a _foothold_ situation. I can't stay here. I won't. I just want to know—" he broke off, gesturing toward Rush.

She pursed her lips, clearly unhappy. "He's got a fever," she said quietly. "And I've seen his vitals look better. He's not breathing very well, and his blood pressure is too low."

"Bottom line?" Young asked her.

"Bottom line is that he's not stable."

"Well _make _him stable then," Young snapped.

TJ looked up at him, her eyes wide the dim light.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Look, I've got to go."

"I think you should stay," TJ said quietly. "You're in no shape to go, and Rush needs you here. Let someone else—"

"There _is _no one else, TJ. Telford is taking the bridge, the rest of the crew is in the mess, but Brody and Volker are out there with _no_ support. They're _civilians_. Someone's got to go get them and there's _no one else_ available, all right? You think I _want_ to do this? This is the _last_ thing I want to do. But I'm sure as _hell_ not going to let Brody and Volker be _killed_ because fucking _Rush_ needs me to hold his fucking _hand_. Are we clear on that?"

TJ looked at him in shock.

He realized that he was leaning forward into her personal space and she had stepped back, away from the gurney, her hands open, her expression briefly pained before closing down into something unreadable.

"We're clear, sir," she said, her tone neutral, her face nearly expressionless.

It was her best defense—the only one she ever permitted herself, and he knew it well—that face, that voice.

He pulled back, taking a deep breath, pressing a shaking hand to his forehead. "I'm sorry, TJ. I am. But right now I have to _go_."

"Hey." The word was sharp, snapping across the dim air, and Young had to look away from TJ over to the doorway to identify the speaker.

It was Eli.

"Don't worry about it," Eli said. "I brought the internal sensors online. Volker and Brody made it to the mess through the bulkheads." His voice was flat, nearly unrecognizable.

Chloe hovered next to him, gingerly draping a blanket over his shoulders.

"You brought the sensors online?" Young asked. "Was that a good idea?"

"I didn't open ship-wide access, they're ported to the infirmary console. I cleared them earlier." Eli said shortly. "In the CI room, before they—" his throat closed briefly. "Before they broke through. Telford's regrouping at the armory nearest the bridge."

"Okay," Young said quietly.

"So you're going to stay?" Eli asked.

Young had to make an effort not to snap at him.

He took another deep breath, trying to relax, trying to shove back the slow, subtle creep of Rush's personality into his own.

It was easier when he was calm.

"Yeah," he managed finally. "For now, at least."

"Great," Eli said, his tone sarcastic as he turned. "I'll be twenty feet in this direction."

Chloe looked worriedly after him before coming forward to pile several blankets on the foot of Rush's gurney.

"Do you," she asked nervously, looking at Young, angling her chin subtly upward. "Do you want me to go back out there?"

Young considered it.

"I could—take the lifesigns detector."

She had been incredibly useful.

"I could back up Telford's team."

She was also a _kid_ with no training to speak of, who had been compromised repeatedly and profoundly by the Nakai, and who, even now, was _so afraid_ of what she was offering that she was trembling, subtly, all over.

"No, kiddo," Young said quietly. "You're done for the day, I hope. Stay with Eli—he could use some company. Maybe you can give him a hand."

Her entire stance relaxed.

"Crazy alien math skills do not translate to writing computer code in Ancient," Chloe said ruefully. "But sure. I'll do what I can."

Against his will, he turned back to TJ and Rush.

TJ was leaning over the scientist penlight in hand as she pulled up first one eyelid, then the other.

"Help me with his jacket, will you?" she asked as she started to ease it off his shoulders. Young slowly walked over to the edge of the bed, lifting Rush's shoulders slightly as she pulled the material out from under him, leaving him in his thin cotton T-shirt.

This was wrong.

_Wrong_.

Injured, semi-conscious, mostly dead, Rush had always, _always_ fought him. Fought _everyone_. But now—this terrible, _prolonged_ stillness—it was too much for him to take. It added to the feeling that instead of the person he knew, he was looking at someone who had been—

Ruined.

Expertly, TJ started an IV, taping the flexible cannula in place, hanging a drip from a hook behind the bed.

"So why the Ativan?" TJ asked, her voice clipped, professional.

"What?" Young snapped, distracted.

"Why did they give him Ativan?" she repeated, the words slower, as soothing as she could make them.

He _hated_ that tone of voice. Hated the implication that he was brittle, that he was about to snap.

"To protect his mind from the computer virus," he replied carefully. "He um, he gave it to himself, actually."

"I have a hard time picturing _that_," TJ murmured, absently smoothing Rush's hair back from his forehead. "So do we need to keep him under? Until the virus is out of the CPU?" It was clear from the way she asked the question that this would be her preference.

"I don't know," Young said, shutting his eyes, driving the heel of one hand into his eye socket. "I'm not sure. I mean, he's _already_ completely out of it—can you really give him anything else? Safely?"

"Yeah," TJ said quietly. "We can put him on something with a short half-life. If we run into any problems we just take him off the drip and he comes out of it within a few minutes."

"All right," Young said, "Let's do that. For now."

"I'm going to go mix it up," TJ said quietly. "You want to sit with him for a minute, then I'll take a look at your back?"

"Sure," Young said. He paced over to stand beside Rush as she vanished around the corner.

He looked down.

Fuck.

_Fuck_.

He looked away.

Everything was going to be fine.

It _was_.

He looked back. Rush's hair was fanned out over the pillow, his skin terrifyingly pale in the dim blue light, his hair and eyelashes a dark contrast with the pallor of his skin, with the whiteness of the sheets. His hands—his hands were still and open.

Who was he kidding?

There was no way, _no way,_ he could stay here right now.

He turned away abruptly, leaving Rush alone.

The man was hooked up to the monitors. He would be fine. They would know if he wasn't.

He walked back into the main room.

TJ glanced over at him but said nothing.

Eli shot him a guarded, quiet look from bloodied eyes.

Young tried to calm his breathing, tried to unwind, tried to control the terrible _restive_ feeling in his hands and just—relax.

It wasn't working.

Rush was coming forward again in his mind. He wasn't sure _why_ exactly, but it seemed likely to be a combination of things. First of all, it was now extremely obvious to Young that when Rush had repaired his mind, whether he had intended to or not, he'd left a lot more in Young's consciousness than simple neural architecture. Second, it seemed likely that Rush had been _actively_ doing something to prevent his less charming personality traits from completely overrunning Young's mind. Now that he was out of commission, they were becoming increasingly difficult to resist. Certainly the AI/Rush combination had helped him out for a time but there was still an element of bleed-over. Third, Young suspected that even though he didn't intend to do so, he was probably subconsciously pulling the other man's thought patterns forward.

He couldn't help it.

He _missed _him.

Young sat down near Eli and Chloe, watching them work.

"Take your shirt off," TJ said shortly, as she walked past him to the rear of the room, carrying another IV bag. "I need to look at your back."

Slowly, gingerly, Young complied.

Chloe got up to help him, easing the shreds of Volker's shirtsleeves off the still bleeding injury, helping him with his undershirt, hissing quietly between her teeth in sympathy.

After a few minutes of work they got it off, and Young shivered in the cool air of the infirmary as he waited for TJ, his bloody, ruined jacket and his bloody, ruined undershirt balled in his hands in front of him.

TJ returned with a suture kit and a bottle of ethanol. When she saw his forearms she stopped short.

"What did you _do_ to your _arms_?" she asked, horrified.

"I had to pull out of some restraints," Young said tiredly, feeling more than a little lightheaded.

"Ah," she said, walking forward to set the suture kit on the table next to Young. "I can see that." After inspecting his back for a few moments she began to carefully clean and disinfect the small puncture wound just beneath his shoulder blade while Chloe held the sterile suture tray, quietly assisting.

They were only a few feet from Eli, who was now wrapped in a blanket, hunched in front of one of the monitors in the infirmary. His hands shook slightly as he slowly worked his way through a bottle of TJ's electrolyte solution while scanning through lines of code. He had the same intensity of focus he'd displayed earlier in the gateroom, except this time he wasn't wearing his headphones.

He also wasn't talking.

At all.

No commentary, no banter, no occasional references to obscure science fiction films.

Nothing.

Young knew by the way TJ's hands kept periodically stilling on his back that she, too, was watching the younger man.

"Eli," TJ said finally, her hands careful and cool over Young's shoulder. "Do you want some chocolate? I think we got some from—"

"No."

"Okay," TJ whispered.

Young winced as he felt her put a single stitch in the small wound in his back before reapplying a sterile pressure dressing that she wrapped tightly and then securely taped in a complicated pattern over his shoulder. She came around his side, her gaze dropping to the mess of Young's abraded, bruised forearms. "This is going to really hurt."

"Yeah," Young said. "I know."

She shook her head. "Would you consider—"

"No," he said quietly. "Do what you've gotta do."

He watched her pull out a bottle of Brody's ultrapure ethanol and a stack of bandages and gauze.

Eli sniffed quietly, and Young's eyes flicked over in time to see him press a piece of bloody gauze to his nose. TJ watched him as well for a few seconds longer before looking back and twisting the top off the bottle of ethanol.

She grabbed Young's right hand, holding it in hers.

Young stopped her before she could start dousing his arm in the stuff, with a hand on her wrist.

"He's out, right? Really_, really_ out?" his voice was barely audible.

She nodded. "He shouldn't feel a thing. I just started him on the anesthetic from Earth, plus he's still got a lot of Ativan on board."

"I don't want him feeling this. I don't want it to confuse him."

"He's not feeling _anything_ right now." TJ's voice was equally quiet.

"Okay," Young said, smiling wanly at her. "Do your worst."

He watched in horrified fascination as she poured the clear, cool liquid over his forearm, turning it quickly, covering every centimeter of abraded skin. For an instant, there was no pain and _then—_

He stopped breathing, his eyes tearing with the intensity of it. Surely there was _nothing_ that hurt this much that he could ever remember experiencing except for maybe trying to pull Rush out of the ship when it _really_ didn't fucking want to let him go, nothing that he could remember being this _acute_ for this _long_—

"Breathe," TJ said, her voice low and quiet, and then, for god's _sake_, she was _rubbing_ at the deeper cuts, working the alcohol into the abraded skin and it was really a mistake to _watch_ this, what had he been _thinking_—

"_Breathe_," TJ said louder, right in his ear, unscrewing the top from a tube of antibiotic gel and liberally covering his forearm with it before rapidly beginning to wrap his arm in gauze.

And then it was over, a clean, white bandage covering the mess that he'd made of his right arm.

"Shit," Young breathed shakily. "Let's uh—hold off on the other one. Do it later. What do you say?"

"Sorry colonel," she murmured. "No deal."

"I'll give you my share of the potato chips."

She smiled, reaching out to take his left hand in hers.

"My fruit ration. For a _month_."

"Sorry," she said, grimacing as she dumped the ethanol over the other arm. Again there was the brief image of clear liquid pouring over injuries with no pain, and then—

He opened his eyes to find himself slumped forward over the table, his head resting against his right bicep and, _mercifully_, looking at a finished bandaging job. TJ was rubbing his back.

"Hey," she said quietly. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he said, his voice hoarse. "Fine. Sorry."

"I keep some spare uniforms in the back," she said quietly. "One second."

Young watched Eli, who was squinting at the monitor in front of him with pained, bloodshot eyes.

After a few moments, Young's radio crackled, causing both him and Eli to start in surprise. He raised his eyebrows at the first break in radio silence for hours.

"This is Telford. We have taken the bridge. I repeat, the bridge is secure. Twelve Nakai remain on the ship, located near the starboard FTL drive. We are currently in pursuit."

Young grabbed the radio, a shock of pain reverberating up both arms as he did so. "This is Young," he said, broadcasting on all channels. "All personnel are ordered to remain where they are unless already in pursuit of the Nakai."

"Thank god," TJ whispered, as she returned, shirt and jacket in hand. "I expect I'm going to be getting a lot of wounded?"

Young nodded shortly. "From what I saw, Reynods, Wray, and Barnes were the worst, but there may be more."

"We've been lucky so far," TJ murmured, "all things considered—"

Eli froze for a moment, then continued typing, the break in his motion was not lost on Young or TJ.

"Eli," TJ said quietly. "Do you want—"

"No," he snapped, rounding on her with his terrible, bloodshot eyes. "I do not _want_ anything right now, all right? I'm fine. I need to work so just—leave me _alone_." He turned back to the monitor.

"Eli," Chloe whispered.

TJ's expression cracked briefly, her hand coming to her mouth as she turned her head away from both Eli and Young. After a few seconds, she turned back with a deep breath, her face calm and composed.

"I'm going to go prep for—" she broke off with a vague hand gesture and compressed lips as she turned away from them, heading over to the pharmacy, beginning to pull IV bags off the shelves, piling them in easy reach on a small table.

Young watched her for a moment before turning back to Eli.

"Something on your mind?" he asked, making a concerted effort to keep his voice mild.

Eli stopped working again, turning to look at him in overt incredulity.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?" Eli asked.

Chloe looked up from her own monitor abruptly, then just as quickly dropped her eyes.

Young raised his eyebrows. "I'm not sure what you mean," he replied carefully.

"What the hell are you _sitting here_ with _me_ for?"

"I'm—"

"No. You know what? I don't want to hear it."

"Eli," Chloe said again, her voice low.

"Don't talk to me."

"_Eli,_" Young snapped. "Come on. This isn't you. What happened?"

"This _isn't me_? What, you think that at heart I'm some kind of happy-go-lucky _idiot_ who just—"

"No," Young growled, cutting him off. "At heart, I think you're a _nice, perceptive kid_. So. What. Happened."

"Nothing. Look. It's just bothering me to have you here, so can you please stop watching me—"

"Eli. Look. I'll lay it out for you. You were tortured. You can't expect—"

"Yeah. My point, since you're _just_ _not getting it_, is that I'm really not the person you should be sitting with right now."

Young felt his expression close off. "Rush?" he asked guardedly.

"Yes," Eli said, his voice cracking with strain. "_Rush_. Go sit with Rush."

"I don't think that's the best use of my time at the moment," Young said, forcing his face into a neutral expression, the muscles of his jaw clenching.

"Big surprise there," Eli said. "Do you have any idea, _any idea at all_ what happened in that room?" By the end of the sentence, his voice had dropped to a strained whisper.

"Eli—I know you were tortured—"

"No." Eli snapped coldly. "Before that. _Before_ they came through."

Young felt a sudden surge of surprise, and struggled not to let it show on his face. "I saw some of it," he replied, taping his temple with two fingers. "I know you convinced him to put himself under."

"Before that." Eli looked away. "Before he started talking to you out loud, if that's even what that was. How much did you see?"

"None of it," Young answered. "You want to—tell me about it?" He tried to force down his own dread as much as possible. He did _not_ want to hear this right now. But he had the feeling that Eli—

That Eli needed to say it.

Beside Eli, Chloe was entirely still, her eyes down, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

"He just—" Eli said, looking away. "He really—"

Eli stopped.

Young stayed quiet.

"Telford told me to run, you know? But, when I looked back, no one was following me. I could see Greer and Rush in the hall, and I could tell that Greer was having a hard time with him, so I— I went back. Rush was fighting him, trying to get back to the gate room." Eli took a deep breath, bringing his voice back under control.

"Then the Nakai started to come through. I could tell because Telford was firing and yelling at us to go, but Rush—_still_ wouldn't stop, and then he started _screaming_ in Ancient and they, they couldn't tell what he was saying, but I—I could. I knew."

"What was he saying?" Young asked.

"Your name," Eli whispered. "Over and over and _over_ again, the pronunciation is different, but it was—unmistakable. And when Telford shut the door, trapping you in the gate room he—"

Maddeningly, Eli stopped there.

"He what?" Young murmured quietly.

"He _lost_ his _shit_. Before he had just been trying to get _away_ from Greer but he started _attacking _him, attacking Telford, and the Nakai were prying open the door, but he—just wouldn't come with us. They had to _restrain _him. With those plastic things that you guys carry. In the middle of the hall. And the Nakai were opening the door—but he just—_did not get it_. He wouldn't stop. Telford and Greer had to _carry_ him to the CI room. He fought them the entire way."

Young leaned forward against the table, one hand coming up to grip his temples. He didn't want to look at Eli. Didn't want to see his horrible, bloodshot eyes in his chalk-pale face.

"And _then_—" Eli continued, his voice breaking, "when we got to the room, it took Telford and Greer _together_ half an hour to talk him down. _Half an hour_ just to get him to stop screaming and fighting the restraints, and another fifteen minutes before he said _anything_ to us that we could understand."

"Eli—"

"And you know what he said?" Eli asked. "He looked straight at _Telford_ and he said, 'I apologize. Please don't sedate me, David. I can still help you'." Eli paused. "How _fucked up_ is that?"

"Eli, I don't think—"

"I mean, how do you think he knew? Do you think the AI could have told him that Telford had the drug? Do you think he just _guessed_? The entire time he just seemed so _out_ of it and then he comes up with _that_? From fucking _nowhere_? God."

"Look," Young said, the words grinding out him like gravel, "Eli—"

"And _then_," Eli continued relentlessly, "Greer cuts him free and they get him up so that he can help me and he just looks over my shoulder at these lines of code I'm going through and starts saying shit that _doesn't make sense_. Just single words as I'm scrolling. Weapons. Hydroponics. Dialing. Sensors. And so I ask him what he's doing and _he can't tell me_. It's only later that I realize that he was _naming the systems that I was clearing. Naming them_ by looking at nearly featureless lines of Ancient code. _So we could bring them online._ But Telford made him leave me alone. Dragged him across the room and put him in front of a monitor. But he didn't know what to do with it."

"Yeah," Young said weakly.

"And so _then_ when _you _woke up, he was clearly just so _relieved—"_

"Eli," Young said. "Right now I just _can't_—" he broke off, holding up a hand, looking away.

"Yeah," Eli whispered. "I can't either. So if you really want to help me, colonel, you can go back there, and you can fucking hold his hand for twenty minutes because even though it won't do a damn thing for _him_, it will just—make _me_ feel better."

"Okay," Young whispered, getting to his feet, looking down at Eli with his red-rimmed, shadowed eyes. "I can do that."

Eli nodded, his eyes already back on the screen in front of him.

Young squeezed his shoulder through the blanket as he turned, heading for the back room of the infirmary.

For a moment, he leaned against the door frame, pressing his aching temple to cool metal. After a moment he grabbed a chair, ignoring the pain in his forearms as he lifted it and carried it a few steps over to the side of Rush's bed.

He sat.

He shouldn't be here.

He should out helping Telford, or transporting wounded from the mess, or—any one of a thousand things that would be _useful and _that would help bring this god-awful situation to a _close_.

The room was oppressively quiet.

He didn't _want _to be here.

He didn't want to look at Rush like this, quiet and pale and shut down and split apart by fucking firewalls and chemically locked up—

"Hey genius," he said quietly, his voice wavering cut off his own spiraling thoughts. He wrapped his hand around Rush's slack fingers. They felt unnaturally warm beneath his grip, and he pressed a hand to Rush's forehead. "Yup," he said. "That's all you need, isn't it? A fucking fever."

He sat there for a moment, tracing two fingers over the ring of bruises that braceletted Rush's wrist. It looked like Greer and Telford had done it properly, with the restraints over his jacket and tight, right at the joint.

"We match," Young murmured. "But yours are a bit more understated than mine."

The talking was lifting the oppressive quiet in the room, so he continued.

"Two things," he murmured, unnecessarily smoothing Rush's hair back. "You're not going to like either one, so be prepared."

He continued to run his fingers gently through Rush's hair, carefully working out subtle tangles.

"Number one, you're on medical leave, effective immediately. I know you hate that, but you can just deal with it."

"Number two, you were _so_ full of shit about that whole 'people kiss each other all the time' thing, because your abnormally well-adjusted computational alter ego, or whoever he was, _definitely_ tried to put the moves on me, and he was only _thirty_ _percent_ you. So I'm figuring you must like me. A lot, actually."

The room was silent.

"I said no, though," Young continued conversationally. "Even though he is, arguably, better looking than you. And more informative. And nicer." He closed both hands around Rush's left hand and wrist. "Well, to be fair, it's not that he's better looking, he's just more like—you on a really good day. And healthy. With better clothes. Though, presumably, you'd choose those same clothes, if you could."

Young chewed on the inside of his lip, looking away, looking down.

"So you're going to be fine, you know? Eli is—" he broke off briefly. "Eli is going to find this virus and get rid of it, and then we're going to put you in the chair, and Destiny's going to fix you, or maybe _you're_ going to fix you—I was kind of unclear on that part. And _then_—"

He broke off briefly as his throat closed.

"Then after that, I'm going to finally let Eli put on that movie night that he wanted to do. I think it was going to be Star Wars, or Star Trek 4 or _something_, and then I'm going to _make you go_ and I'm going to just enjoy the hell out of watching you be a complete jerk about it and refuse to eat popcorn on principle for the first hour of the thing."

"Also, on principle, I'm going to force you to _stay_ on medical leave for longer than is actually medically necessary, and you're just going to be viciously irritated by the entire thing and make TJ _miserable_. And you're going to help Brody make a ring for Chloe but you're going to pretend that you don't want to. And you're just going to intimidate the _hell_ out of Chloe and Eli when you start going over their quantum mechanics homework, but secretly you're going to be happy about it. And we're going to have no battles for at least a week. And Telford's going to stay in his goddamned quarters. And the AI is going to leave everyone alone."

He ran his fingers over the white sheets, smoothing away small creases in the fabric.

"That's the plan. Don't mess it up."

He looked away, shutting his eyes against the shimmering in his vision.

"So," Young said quietly, when he could speak again, "Sorry, genius, but you're just going to have to stay like this until we get everything secured, and locked down, and squared away, and scanned, and uninfected. Then we'll try to put you back together."

* * *

><p>Young spent the next ten hours assisting with the mopping up of the last few Nakai, the manual sweep of the ship for any tampering by enemy forces, transporting the wounded to the infirmary, and the coordination of the science team into shifts that would be assisting Eli as he continued to work on purging the virus. Twenty hundred hours found him on the bridge with Park and Volker.<p>

By his count, he hadn't slept for the last thirty-six hours.

He'd been drinking TJ's electrolytes and he'd had an MRE at some point, which had helped a bit, but he was going to crash soon, and crash hard.

"So," Park said, breaking the silence, directing her comment more at Volker than at Young. "I heard that we didn't lose anyone."

"That's what I heard too," Volker replied. "Thank god. Although Barnes and Reynolds are in pretty bad shape. I heard that TJ gave Scott a blood transfusion." His eyes flicked surreptitiously back to Young.

Young pretended not to notice.

"Any word on—" Park's voice dropped to nothing, and she glanced back at him as well.

"Come on, Park," Young drawled tiredly. "Just ask."

"Ah—any word on Rush, colonel?"

"He's sedated until Eli can get the virus out of the mainframe."

"I talked to Brody before I came on shift," Volker said quietly. "He said they're making good progress. They've got a code to search for anomalies that Eli is finally satisfied with, apparently, and they're running it now."

"Yeah," Young said tiredly, rubbing his jaw. "It's going to take six hours and some change to run, or so I hear."

"The mainframe is a big place," Volker said quietly.

"Yeah," Young murmured.

"Colonel," Park said. "You look about ready to drop. Nothing's going on at the moment. Why don't you go get some rest?"

Young was about to reply when the door to the bridge hissed open. Telford entered, his appearance sharp. He'd changed his uniform, and looked at least marginally rested, though his eyes were still red-rimmed from the tear gas earlier in the day. Night. Whatever.

"Everett," he said. "Hey. You look like shit."

"David," Young replied neutrally. "You look better."

"Yeah. I'm here to relieve you. TJ sent me. She respectfully _requests_ you to report to the infirmary."

Young sighed, and pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly as he did so. Telford stepped in to steady him.

"We need to talk," Telford said, as he grabbed Young's elbow, his voice low next to Young's ear, too quiet to be picked up by Volker or Park. "About what the _hell_ is going on between you and Rush."

Young pulled away. "Not now," he said quietly.

"Later then," Telford said, his tone low, but his voice hard.

"Later," Young confirmed.

He made his way to the infirmary in a half-daze of exhaustion. When he got there, TJ was busy with Barnes, so he headed toward the back room, noting with relief that many fewer beds were occupied now than had been earlier in the day.

He gave Scott and Chloe a half-hearted wave as he passed them.

As he came through the doorway into the back room, he stopped short, raising his eyebrows. Wray was curled in the chair that that Young had moved next to Rush's bed. She was holding an iPod with white headphones snaking out from it. One earbud was in her right ear and the other was in Rush's left. Her eyes were closed, but even from the doorway he could see the red rims beneath her eyelashes. She had one hand outstretched on Rush's forearm.

Young wondered if she had fallen asleep.

She opened her eyes.

It was hard to look at her.

"Hey," he said quietly.

"Hey," she whispered.

"What are you listening to?"

"Satie. Gymnopédie number one."

"Ah."

"It's my contribution," she said, her eyes closing.

"Your contribution?" he echoed. "To what?"

She her lips curved into a faint, trembling smile. Her eyes stayed closed. "If you don't already know, I'll let Eli tell you."

"Do I _want_ to know?" he asked wryly, crossing his arms.

"It's very nice," she said, her eyes opening briefly and then closing again, her tone carrying a shadow of admonishment that seemed to break apart on the last word. "You'll like it," she whispered.

They were quiet for a moment, and Young pushed away from the doorframe, coming forward to sit on the end of Wray's empty gurney.

"Do you think he can hear it?" she asked, the muscles of her face quivering subtly as she tried to hold on to her neutral expression.

No.

"Maybe," he said. "TJ's got him pretty snowed though."

"Good," Wray whispered, a tear leaking out of one closed eye. Quickly, she brought a hand up to brush it away, back into her hair, as if it had never been. "That's good."

"Yeah," Young replied quietly.

"You should sleep," Wray said, looking at him, turning her horrible, bloodshot eyes straight at him. "I'll sit with him. I'm not tired."

Young tried to suppress a shiver at her ghastly appearance. "I'm good," he said.

"Liar," Wray said faintly, but there was a smile in her voice. She turned back to Rush, closing her eyes, as if she could tell that they bothered him. "I'll wake you."

It was almost impossible to resist lying down now that he was already _sitting_ on a bed. He half collapsed onto his side, his eyes shutting against his will. It felt odd, going to sleep separated from Rush by a few feet of empty air. He opened their link as wide as it would go, but picked up only darkness from Rush's mind.

He left the link open anyway as he faded into unconsciousness.


	29. Chapter 29

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** Thanks for all the long and thoughtful reviews! If you'd like to know the gist of what Rush is saying, you can plug the lines above into google's Latin-to-English translation tool. It's not perfect, but then, Ancient isn't exactly Latin. This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>It was nearly twenty three hundred hours. Young sat alone in the mess, waiting for Telford, sipping his daily allotment of decaffeinated tea.<p>

He'd been adamant about not letting any caffeine back on board when they got supplies from Earth. He'd also been very specific about no nicotine either, and he was fairly certain that the pack of cigarettes he still had in his pocket was the only pack on board—unless Telford had a stash somewhere.

Which was possible.

Young hissed as he accidently rested his forearms against the edge of the table. They were healing as well as could be expected, but he still had a ways to go before he was back to baseline.

Finally, the door hissed open.

"Hey," Telford said, approaching Young with his usual fast clip. "How's Rush?"

"The same," Young replied. "TJ's going to try waking him up tomorrow."

Telford nodded as he slid into a seat across from Young. "No problems with any systems?"

"Nope," Young said shortly. "The CPU is performing up to its usual standards."

"What about the code that defines the AI?" Telford asked.

"Still locked in the neural interface at the moment," Young said.

"Why not bring it online now?"

"It's—" he paused, giving Telford a measured look. "It's pretty integrated with Rush. We're going to bring them both up at once."

Telford nodded shortly, leaning back in his chair, saying nothing.

"So," Young said finally, trying to remember not to rest his arms against the side of the table, "you requested this meeting—" he gestured for Telford to go ahead.

He knew why Telford was here, but he certainly wasn't going to do the man any favors.

Telford's expression gave nothing away. "You haven't been completely frank with me or with Homeworld Command about what's going on here, Everett."

No kidding.

"You're going to have to be more specific, _David_."

The quiet in the mess was oppressive.

"When Rush was shutting down the gate as they attempted to dial in—you _collapsed_, which ultimately resulted in capture and significant injury to you _and_ Lieutenant Scott.

"It had been a long day," Young said evenly.

"I watched you stay on your feet for a solid twelve hours after not only significant blood loss, but also being hit with a dart that released an anesthetic and an anticoagulant into your system."

Young raised his eyebrows.

"Most importantly," Telford said, leaning forward, "I know what you're _like_, Everett. You don't just _pass out_ in the middle of a progressing foothold situation. So _what happened_?"

Young said nothing.

"Issues of transparency aside, if I'm going to be a part of the chain of command on this ship then I need to know what's going on. Unless you just plan to cut me out entirely."

Telford did have a point, but Young wasn't about to give an inch. He'd had several days to think about how he was going to handle this conversation.

Unfortunately, so had Telford.

He was going to have to give up some information to the other man or risk him opening an IOA backed investigation. But he was _damned_ if he wasn't going to _get_ something in return.

"You want to be a team player?" he said mildly. "Is _that_ what you're saying?"

"Yes," Telford said, from between gritted teeth.

"Fine. Then tell me what happened on Anubis' offworld base," he said quietly.

"That's not _relevant_ here," Telford said.

"You're going to tell me what happened, or you get _nothing_ from me. I'm under no obligation to explain anything to you. That's how the chain of command _works_, colonel."

"You _barely_ outrank me," Telford hissed. "This command would have been mine but for a quirk of circumstance. If you don't watch your step it could _still _be mine."

"One more statement like that and you'll be confined to quarters under guard," Young growled.

"On what charge?"

"Mutiny."

"You have no—"

"I don't need it," Young said. "Get that into your head. You give me so much as _remotely_ probable cause and I will cut you off from Earth. I will confine you for the duration of this mission. And _that_ could be a very long time."

Telford looked at him, his eyes hard.

Young leaned back in his chair, letting a few seconds tick by. "So," he said finally. "Anubis' offworld base."

"I was under the impression that Rush already told you everything you needed to know," Telford said. "You two seem to be getting along pretty well these days." He paused, watching Young carefully. "I don't know what kind of hold you think you have over him, but in the end, he'll get what he wants, and you'll get _screwed_. I can guarantee you that much."

"Somehow, I don't think he _wanted_ this," Young snapped.

"You don't think so?" Telford murmured, looking him straight in the eye.

"Talk," Young said.

"What do you want to know?" Telford's expression was guarded, difficult to read.

"Why you tried to kill him. That would be a good start," Young growled.

"That's a pretty crass way to frame an attempt to modify the bounds of human consciousness."

"Ah. Yes. Thanks for setting me straight on that one."

"Look," Telford said, leaning forward. "We were trying to modify his thought patterns and to do _that_, apparently, you need two things. One, you have to induce the changes," he said counting off on one hand. "And _two_, you need to make them stick."

Young fought to keep his expression neutral.

"Anubis figured out how to do _both_. He used an electrical impulse to induce the changes and then he used—" Telford broke off, swallowing convulsively. "In order to make the changes permanent, you have to really let go of your previous patterns of thought and you have to give it time to let it take hold. To remake your mind. Can you see him being able to do that? On his own? No. No one can. Or, rather, it's very difficult. So—" Telford made an empty hand gesture. "I helped him."

Young had to look away.

He took a deep breath.

And then another.

"Explain to me how that worked," Young said.

"There was—this—gel. It was a part of the device. He thought—and Amanda Perry thought—that it was to promote the electrical conductance. And it was, it just also—had another purpose."

"Which was?"

"It was a paralytic and an anesthetic. It essentially put your body in stasis, leaving your mind untethered. Supposedly, it allowed you to let go, in that it simulated death for a short period of time."

"And you found this out from whom?"

Telford's eyes slid away briefly. "Kiva. The Lucian Alliance."

"And you let him _go ahead_ with this? You told _no one_ at Homeworld Command?"

"They never figured out that it was a part of the device. It initiated automatically after the electrophysiological adjustment."

"You could have stopped it."

"He knew the risks," Telford said quietly. "He volunteered."

"You _could have stopped it_."

"We _all _ knew the risks. Even Jackson. Jackson warned him _explicitly_ that there might be something like this built into the device's protocol. But he went ahead _anyway_."

"Don't you _dare_ try to lay this on _him_."

"I'm not," Telford snapped back, his hands open. "Yes. I could have prevented it. If I'd been in my _right mind _at the time, I would have. God, Everett. You know me. You were _so sure _that I wouldn't betray Homeworld Command that you nearly killed Rush _yourself _to prove that I had been brainwashed. Come on. Get off your damn high horse."

Young reached up, rubbing his jaw.

"Look. If it makes any difference to you, maybe it doesn't, but—I was with him. He wasn't alone. I wouldn't have left him to—" Telford stopped, his throat closing, his gaze falling away.

"You were with him," Young repeated quietly, almost peripherally.

Telford unconsciously straightened, as he recognized the danger in Young's tone.

"You were _with _him?" Young repeated again, his voice rising. "You _held him under_."

Telford's eyes widened subtly in surprise and he looked away, one hand coming up to rake through his hair. "It was easier. And we—we were on a timetable."

"A timetable?" Young hissed.

"It was a perfect opportunity," Telford murmured. "To turn him over."

"To the Lucian Alliance?"

Telford nodded shortly, looking away. "The LA attacked the Daedalus while we were planetside, as planned. They began broadcasting an interference pattern that would prevent the ship from beaming out either myself or Rush. They sent a cloaked shuttle down to the planet."

"What went wrong?" Young asked quietly.

"Dr. Perry," Telford said. "She reprogramed the transporter. She really was—" Telford paused, his eyes flicking down to the table. "She really was brilliant. She cared a lot about Nick, and she was suspicious of my motives. Rightly so, it turned out."

"And what happened to Rush?" Young asked.

"He was beamed straight out of the gel. He was supposed to be in the stuff for at least an hour. He was there for something like thirty minutes. I'm guessing that's why, afterwards—he just wasn't quite the same."

Young raised his eyebrows, prompting Telford to elaborate.

"More volatile, more panicky, less methodical, but—faster. At everything. More intuitive. That's what I heard. I didn't talk to him until I saw him later on Icarus. But that's why—I'm almost certain that's why he couldn't do what Eli was able to do."

Young nodded.

They were quiet for a long time.

"He told you about it?" Telford asked finally. "I tried, once, to get him to talk to me about what happened on the planet, but he—" the other man broke off, taking a deep breath, "said he didn't remember. That's what he told Jackson and O'Neill. I wasn't—I was never _sure_. You can't tell with him. He's got this way of—lying to himself, as well as everyone else. I'm still not convinced that he didn't _want_ exactly what happened. Even if he didn't know—"

"Yeah," Young snapped, as his temper got the better of him. "Just keep digging yourself in."

"Where do you get _off_?" Telford snapped right back. "Who fucking appointed you his _protector_? You've nearly killed him _yourself_ how many times? It's an open secret that you fucking _left him for dead_ and the Nakai got ahold of him and fucking _tortured _him and implanted a transmitter in his _heart_, which you then ordered him to remove, _against his will_. You're not speaking from any kind of position of strength."

"I didn't try to kill him with my bare, fucking _hands_."

"Well _neither did I_," Telford hissed, leaning forward across the table. "And what the _fuck_ is going on _now_, Everett? I answered your questions, now answer me _that_."

He'd had a lot of time to think about how he would proceed.

Based on what Telford had seen, what he knew already, and what he and his team would likely find when they had the chance to search the Ancient database—

"I'm linked to Rush," Young said. "As in—mentally."

Telford stared at him, his eyes, his features giving nothing away.

"Mentally." Telford repeated flatly. "What the _hell_ does that mean?"

Young shrugged. "Destiny pulls on his mind, I pull back. As for the details, isn't that what you're here to look into? I'm sure I'm not aware of all of the repercussions myself."

Telford was looking straight back at him. "I'm sure," he said, a dark undertone to his words. "So exactly how far does this link go?" Telford asked. "Do you—" he broke off, as if he wasn't sure he could believe what he was about to ask. "Do you hear his thoughts? Feel what he feels?"

"His thoughts are absolutely uninterpretable to me," Young said, taking a page out of Rush's book and going with a truthful, if deliberately misleading, statement. "I just keep the ship from pulling him in so that he can stay functional."

Mostly functional.

"So when you collapsed in the gateroom—"

"You think it was easy to keep him out of the ship when he had to manipulate the power grid like that? No. It takes significant effort."

Telford was looking at him like he was certain that Young wasn't giving him the entire story.

Young stared back, his expression as closed as Telford's was.

"You don't think this compromises your ability to command?"

Young opened his hands, raising his eyebrows. "Do I seem compromised to you? Clearly I'm capable of operating independently from him, as he's currently unconscious, and has been for _days_."

"True," Telford said, his tone neutral. "But—"

They were interrupted by a crackle from Young's radio. "Scott to Young. Please come in." As he moved to pick up the device, he surreptitiously glanced at his watch.

The lieutenant was right on time.

"Go ahead, Scott," Young said.

"Sorry to bother you, sir," Scott's voice emanated from the radio. "But we've got something of a situation down here. Volker and Brody turned on a piece of equipment in one of the labs—"

"_Again_?" Young snapped.

"Um, yeah, like I said, sorry to bother you, sir, it's just not entirely clear what it does, and last time—"

Young glanced over at Telford. The other man's expression had darkened.

"Lieutenant, are you aware that I'm off-shift at the moment? You really should be directing this to Colonel Telford."

There was a brief silence from the radio, and Telford sat back looking somewhat mollified. "I—apologize sir," Scott said. "I'm not used to having two senior officers and the duty roster—"

"No need to apologize lieutenant," Young said. "Colonel Telford happens to be with me at the moment. I'll send him your way. What's your location?"

"We're in the room across from the machine shop. It's one of those small rooms with lots of monitors?"

"All right." Young said. "You want Eli down there?"

"Eli's in the infirmary at the moment. I already tried to get him, but TJ says 'not unless the ship is about to explode'."

"Okay," Young replied. "Telford will be there shortly."

Telford looked over at him steadily. "We're not done with this conversation, Everett."

"I suspect that we won't ever be," Young said flatly. "Look, let me know if this thing that Brody and Volker turned on looks like it's going to explode or displace us through time or something. Otherwise? I need to get some sleep."

Telford nodded, clearly not happy but willing to table the discussion for the time being. They both got to their feet and crossed the mess, parting ways at the door. "Good luck," Young murmured.

"Thanks," Telford said dryly.

Young turned to walk unhurriedly in the direction of his quarters. He gave Telford a good two minutes of lead-time and then he turned abruptly, picking up his pace.

He headed back in the direction he had come.

He tried to fight down his anxiety, tried to subdue the restive feeling in his hands, tried to relieve the tightness in his chest as he considered what he was about to do.

What _they_ were about to do.

This had to work.

It _had to_.

Eli was confident that he'd purged the virus completely.

The rest of the science team had double-checked his work.

They hadn't had a systems glitch for days.

Young rounded the corner, coming upon the hallway that led to the chair room.

No one was in sight.

His eyes swept the corridor, looking for stray kinos. There were none.

Young stopped in front of the door and palmed the door controls.

They didn't open.

Quietly he rapped on the metal, tapping two letters in Morse code.

_TJ._

The door slid open for him to reveal Greer, standing with his assault rifle slung over his shoulder, one hand loosely curled around the weapon. "Right on time, sir," he said, as he stepped back to let Young inside.

Young raised his eyebrows at the other man. "An assault rifle?" he asked quietly, trying to project a sense of assurance that he didn't feel. "Is that really necessary?"

"It's better to be prepared," Greer said mildly, his voice equally quiet. "Any trouble on your end?"

"Nope," Young said. "Telford's with Volker, Brody, and Scott. Presumably his team is in bed at the moment. If everything goes according to plan, we should have about eight hours until anyone misses us."

"As long as there aren't any medical emergencies," TJ whispered, from where she was kneeling next to Rush.

They had him lying on the floor near the chair, both on top of and covered by blankets. TJ was adjusting the IV lines that were keeping the scientist both hydrated and unconscious.

Eli was standing next to her, hunched in his gray sweatshirt as he held the bags of fluids, looking slightly out of his depth.

His eyes had lost the bloodied cast they'd had immediately after his interrogation by the Nakai, but they were still rimmed with red and lined with a lacey network of capillaries.

"You okay, Eli?" Young asked. He knew how little sleep the young man had had in the past few days.

"I'll be better when this is _over_," Eli said quietly. "But, yeah. I'm fine. The hard part is done. Well—" he paused, looking at Young. "For _me,_ that is."

"Thanks for being here," Young said quietly. "I know it's been pretty rough on you."

"Oh you know me," Eli said wanly, "IT guy by day, um—" he halfheartedly lifted the IV bags he was holding. "I don't know—nurse I guess, by night."

TJ looked up at him with a half smile. "Nurse?" she said skeptically. "In my dreams. More like IV pole replacement."

"Hey," Eli said, playing along without any real enthusiasm. "This is skilled labor here." He looked nervously at Young.

"This will work," Young said quietly. "It will."

"Yeah," Eli said, a quick, pained smile flashing across his features. "I know."

"So," TJ said, rocking back on her heels. "What's the final verdict? Do we keep him sedated while he's in the interface?"

"No," Young said, itching to get started. "Pull it out."

"You'll only have a few minutes before he starts to wake up," TJ said, glancing up at him. "Are you ready?"

Young walked over a few paces and dropped down opposite her, on Rush's left side. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Pull the lines. Let's do this."

"Okay," she murmured, and with a quick, deft motion, she pulled both IV lines. She taped down a wad of gauze in the crook of both his elbows, then moved out of the way so that Greer could kneel opposite Young.

They scooped Rush off the floor, blankets and all.

In the back of his mind, he could feel the pressure of Rush's consciousness beginning to engage.

"I've got him," Young murmured as they approached the chair.

Greer backed off, and Young winced as the scientist's full weight pressed against his injured forearms.

In the back of his mind, the pressure turned into a seething headache. Images were starting to come together, disorganized and bright and searing.

He didn't have much time.

Gently, he lowered Rush down into the chair, moving quickly to position his hands and feet. Restraints snapped into place one by one.

Rush's hands flexed.

Young tipped his head back.

_He's alone, on an alien world. Without water. Without food. The dust, stirred up by the wind, is choking him, but he gets to his feet anyway, because fuck them, fuck _all _of them—_

The flashback was cut off by the crack of the neural interface bolts engaging. Rush's mind was pulled away from his, down into the darkness of Destiny where, this time, Young was not permitted to follow.

Young looked down at the scientist, locked into the neural interface, blue lights at his temples where the bolts shot electrodes deep beneath the skin. His hair brushed over the metal, and Young reached out to smooth it back. He adjusted the blankets over Rush's threadbare T-shirt.

TJ came to stand beside him. "I figured I'd better put him back in his clothes," TJ murmured. "At least mostly. Otherwise—" she broke off. "Well, I could see him being—annoyed when he woke up."

"'Annoyed' is one way of putting it," Young flashed her a wry, uncertain smile before turning back to Eli. "How's it looking?"

Eli was staring up at the transparent projections being thrown into midair by the monitors. "Not sure," he said quietly. "But—" he broke off, his expression tightening briefly. "There's a lot of information transfer going on. Both ways."

"That seems like a _good _thing," Young said.

"Yeah," Eli said quietly. "Yeah, I guess. If his mind can handle that. I mean, we still don't really understand what happened to Dr. Franklin."

"That's not going to happen to Rush," Young replied.

"I hope not," Eli said quietly.

"It won't," Young replied.

The four of them gathered around the midair displays, watching Rush's vitals, watching the flickering pattern of voltage fluctuations in his brain, watching representations of data transfer flowing both ways, waxing and waning through the open connection.

After five minutes, Greer shifted restlessly.

"How long is this going to take?" the sergeant asked.

"I don't know," Eli replied. "But, maybe—maybe a long time."

* * *

><p>It took almost seven hours.<p>

Finally, however, informational flux faded to zero and the panel released from the side of the interface.

As soon as they heard it, their heads all snapped around, staring at the chair.

Young stepped forward immediately, but TJ, who was standing at his elbow, pulled him back. He turned to look at her, eyebrows raised.

"I just want you to keep in mind," she murmured, "that it might take him some time to adjust, so—don't read too much into it if he's not entirely cogent."

"Yeah," he said, starting forward again.

She pulled him back.

"I just don't want—"

"Yeah, TJ, I _get_ it." He pulled away, starting forward again.

"Everett," she snapped at him, using his name for the first time in—he couldn't even _remember_ how long.

He turned to look back at her.

"Don't upset him." She walked forward a few paces, dropping her voice, one hand coming to rest on his shoulder. "I know how you can be. Just—whatever happens, stay calm."

He nodded at her shortly and turned, striding forward to slide his right hand onto the cool, smooth surface of the touch screen.

The room faded out and he looked into the darkness of the ship.

It was easy to locate Rush's mind, easy to separate him from the pulse and fade of firing circuitry. As if the ship, or the AI, or the device recognized Young and just—released.

As the neural interface device disengaged, restraints opening with a simultaneous snap, Rush crashed into his mind with the subtlety of a wrecking ball. For several seconds Young couldn't separate himself from the drowning flood of discordant, disorganized images that swept into his mind—nor could he separate himself from the pain.

The headache was unendurable.

His eyes began to water.

He pulled back marginally, enough to regain his own equilibrium, enough to see through blinding pain, enough to move, enough to step around to the front of the chair.

He dropped to his knees and looked up at Rush.

The man's eyes were open but unfocused.

He hadn't moved.

"Rush," Young whispered, bringing one hand up to cover the scientist's right hand.

Rush looked down at him, shaking his head. They flinched at the spike in their headache.

Rush blinked slowly in a second attempt to physically clarify the psychic mess of his thoughts. He brought his left hand to his forehead, squinting at Young.

"Quid tibi accidit?" Rush whispered.

"Um," Young replied, squinting back. "Want to try that one again in English?"

"Quid? Quid iterum dicitis?"

"Uh oh," Eli said quietly, from behind Young.

"English, Rush. You're not speaking _English_," he said, trying to keep a lid on his anxiety, his impatience. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Young felt a sudden surge of adrenalin spike through Rush's system, his heart rate increasing as he sat forward, his right hand tearing away from the grip Young had on it and coming to rest against Young's temple, his eyes narrowing.

Young's headache intensified. He jerked his head back and grabbed Rush's hand, pulling it away from his head.

Rush immediately tried the same maneuver with his other hand, and Young grabbed that one as well.

Rush gave him an alarmed look, and despite his exhausted appearance began to speak Ancient extremely rapidly. "Vultus, ego adviuti te. Non intelligit quod extiterunt. Aliquid est nefas vobis—non proprie loquendo." He tried to jerk his right hand out of Young's grip. "Dimitte me statim. Quid facis?"

Rush was clearly starting to work himself up.

"Calm down," Young said quietly, trying to make his voice as soothing as possible, knowing from experience that it was very unlikely to have any effect.

"Ne dicatis. Asinus."

Rush was trying to get to his feet. Young shoved him back.

"Hang on," Eli murmured to Young, coming to kneel next to him in front of Rush, his hands open. "Ut intelligas me?" he asked Rush.

Rush stared at him and then he was off, speaking extremely quickly, clearly upset, trying to pull out of Young's grip. When he failed to free himself, Young could feel the rhythm of Rush's speech through his hands as he muted the other man's instinctive gestures.

"Whoa," Eli said. "Loquimini tardius—" he broke off as Rush plowed over him.

"What's he saying?" Young demanded, speaking over Rush's increasingly frustrated monologue.

"He thinks there's something wrong with _you_. He thinks he's speaking English. I can't—"

Rush stopped abruptly as he took in the exchange between Young and Eli.

"Oh wait—maybe—" Eli broke off as Rush collapsed back into the chair, most of the tension leaving his frame, his expression full of disgust. With one quick motion he managed to extricate his right hand from Young's grip, and brought it up, his elbow resting on the arm of the neural interface chair, his temple resting against the heel of his hand.

He said something in Ancient. One word.

"Yeah, he gets it," Eli said quietly. "I'm pretty sure he just said 'fuck', actually."

Young smiled faintly, still maintaining his grip on Rush's left hand.

Eli said something back to Rush, his hands open, his tone regaining the subtle, friendly quality that it had been missing for days.

Rush said something in return that just sounded—exhausted.

Young looked at Eli, his eyebrows raised.

"He feels terrible," Eli said quietly. "And he wants to know what happened."

"Tell him you'll explain later," Young murmured. "But that right now we have to get him out of here." He motioned Greer over with his head as Eli talked to Rush.

"Hey Doc," Greer said, appearing beside Eli.

"Hey," Rush repeated, his normal accent completely gone, replaced with the curious inflection of the Ancient language.

They all looked at each other.

"Nice," Greer said, grinning at Rush.

Rush, his energy clearly flagging, fired off a sarcastic-sounding sentence at Eli.

"Um, he says the ability to copy monosyllabic utterances is nothing to be _happy _about."

"God, you're such a killjoy," Greer said, still smiling.

Young sighed, trying to summon up even a fraction of the relief that Greer was evidently feeling. "Let's get him up."

"Careful," TJ said, hovering behind Greer. "His pressure is pretty low and he hasn't been on his feet for days. If he stands too quickly he's very likely to pass out."

"Do you think he'll let us carry him back?" Greer asked.

"Only if he's unconscious," Young said dryly. "Look, whenever he starts to go down, we'll just sweep his legs and pick him up."

"Got it," Greer replied.

Rush was watching the exchange between himself and Greer through half-lidded eyes. Young reached over, detangling him from the blankets he was wrapped in.

"He really shouldn't be walking _at all_ without shoes," TJ said. "His feet have finally started to heal now that he's spent some time off them—"

"What do you say I just go for it?" Greer murmured. "If I'm quick about it, I think he might let me do it. He looks pretty damn tired."

Young frowned, reaching out to bring the back of his hand against Rush's forehead. The scientist didn't react. Beneath Young's hand, his skin was hot and dry. He brushed his hair back, fighting the pain of the increasing headache, looking at the other man's thoughts, which were a vivid, feverish swirl. As soon as Young's mind moved in on his, Rush jerked away weakly, one hand coming up reflexively.

"Give it a shot," Young said quietly.

In one swift, smooth motion, Greer bent down and picked Rush up, lifting him out of the chair, turning rapidly toward the door and making for it at a fast clip. Young was hit with a wave of disorientation from Rush as he struggled to interpret what had just happened.

Eli grabbed Young's elbow to steady him.

/You're okay,/ Young projected, knowing that Rush wasn't going to understand the words, but hoping that he would at least pick up on the intent behind them.

He got back a wave of surprised, exhausted irritation, and then the distinct sense of Rush mentally _pushing _him away.

Young frowned.

Greer paused next to the door, waiting while TJ and Eli made short work of packing up the medical supplies and laptops they had brought with them to the chair room. Young walked over to stand next to Greer, watching Rush, who had closed his eyes against the vertigo and was leaning his head against Greer's shoulder.

"Hey," Eli said quietly, appearing at Young's elbow with his laptop tucked under one arm. "Are you okay? You look like you're about to fall over."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Young said, squinting through the headache. "I feel like shit, but—it's not really me."

"I don't think that necessarily translates into you being _fine_," Eli said dubiously.

Young shrugged. "What time is it?"

"A bit before six in the morning," Eli said.

Young nodded tiredly. "We should get going then. Don't want to meet anyone in the hallways."

TJ joined them, her medical bag over her shoulder.

"Does he seem—off to you?" Young asked Greer quietly.

"Compared to _what_?" Greer replied.

"Never mind."

Without being asked, Eli jogged ahead of them, scouting out their path.

"I hate this cloak and dagger stuff," TJ whispered, as Eli vanished around a corner.

"It'll be fine," Greer murmured. "The only person we give a damn about is Telford, and Scott and James are keeping tabs on his location."

In the back of Young's mind images formed, crystalized, shattered, and reformed as Rush attempted to exert some kind of control over his chaotic thoughts. He was working toward _something_, sifting through memories that weren't his own, as if he could determine the content of a disassembled puzzle simply by examining the pieces.

Maybe he could.

"Still," TJ whispered. "I don't like it."

"Oh come on," Greer murmured. "All things considered this is—"

_The memory slams into him with the shock of a slap—and his hands are suddenly wrenching into a foreign keyboard in the darkness of the ship, as if unfamiliar glyphs in an unfamiliar layout could save him. His nails pry away from his fingers as he is yanked backward away from the monitors that were just beginning to open to him and into the dark. The dark. If he had just been _paying attention_, maybe he would have heard them coming, but they're strangely quiet, their movements have the beating sound of wings struggling against the air, and he hasn't even gotten a good look at them but likely this is _their_ ship, likely they— _

Young reached into his mind and snapped him out of the flashback into—

_The grass is cold and wet beneath them as they lie in the dark of the back yard, looking up at the night sky. _

"_You're such a jackass, Luke," he says to his brother._

"_You'd better not let mom hear you swear like that." Erik is laughing, Luke always cracks him up. _

_Jerks._

"_Don't let him get to you," JD says, though even _he_ sounds amused. "He's just pissed because you're smarter than he is." JD reaches over to mess up his hair. He _hates _it when they do that_—

Rush jerked suddenly in Greer's grip, muscles tensing, his head coming up, eyes opening abruptly, and _again_ Young felt a sense of pressure as Rush mentally tried to push him away.

Unbelievably, his headache only _increased_ in intensity.

"Shit," Greer murmured, his hands tightening on Rush, his pace slowing. He watched the scientist guardedly for a moment, then turned to look back at Young. "What was _that_?" he asked quietly.

"Flashback," Young said shortly. "He's okay now."

"You can just stop being such a pain in the ass all the time, Doc."

In the back of his mind he could feel Rush again start sifting through images.

/Not a good idea,/ Young projected at him, trying to convey a sense of warning. He was fairly certain that Rush either didn't understand or didn't agree because he pulled away from Young as much as he could and continued his intensive examination of the disorganized array of images that filled his consciousness. His control was wavering in and out, and Young was more than a little concerned that if he triggered the wrong memory here in the hallway—

It would not be a good scene, and it would not be low profile.

/Rush,/ he projected again, insistently. /Stop it./

/Efutue./ Rush projected back at him, his control fluttering with exhaustion.

He was fairly sure from the tone that was Ancient for 'fuck off.'

Unbelievable.

They were nearly at the infirmary, the emergency lighting near the deck plating flaring as they passed, when, again, Young had a brief sense of the Nakai coming up in Rush's thoughts and then—

_They're in his mind, he _knows_ they _are_ but it's so difficult to hang on to that when he sees Destiny disintegrating around him the crew, which here in this simulation are all somehow pale and cold with icy eyes, and even though he knows it's not real, he's still tempted to give something away, to go for the neural interface because he regrets, he _regrets _that he never dared to unlock Destiny and it wouldn't have taken him long—if he could just have brief, unprotected apposition of his mind with the ship he could—but he _can't, _he _must not _think of that, not here, not now, not ever, but especially not _now_ while they're screaming, pressing down into his mind and if only there was some release from the pressure and he imagines vessels tearing open in his brain and he _tries to make it happen. _He can't scream, he can't _even scream_, he's struggling in the water, but it slows his movements, preventing injury, except— Yes except. Can he? Yes. Yes. _Yes_ he _can_—and the pressure of their minds leaves him and the pain is gone because they didn't think that he would be able to act with intent, didn't think he would be able to reach up, to rip the breathing apparatus off his face and _there is a way out and he has found it_ and when he pulls the water into his lungs it's a victory, a _victory. _Just let them fucking try to get him out in time—_

Young stopped, suddenly unbalanced, dropping unsteadily into a crouch, as Rush jerked in Greer's grip. Again, he snapped Rush's mind sideways.

_He grabs JD's arm as it extends down into the water and he's being hauled up, dragged out from under the ice, winter clothes and skates and all, and his brother's torso is almost completely submerged, but Luke has JD by the ankles and he breaks the surface with a gasp, the cold air warm against his colder skin._

With a jolt of panic Rush shoved Young's mind back, retreating further, his thoughts shattering into a glittering mess.

"Easy, Doc," Greer said quietly. "Come on man, keep it together, just a little longer."

TJ dropped down to her knees beside him. "Colonel," she said quietly. "We're almost there." Her hand was on his shoulder.

"I'm okay, TJ," he murmured, but he let her help him to his feet.

Mercilessly, he could feel Rush resume his desperate attempt to do—something.

God _damn_ it.

/I can't believe I _missed_ you, you _jackass_,/ Young projected, his tone as soothing as he could make it. /Please _stop_ this./ His eyes were watering from the intensifying pain of the headache.

Ahead, in the hallway, he could see Eli watching them from where he had stationed himself, immediately outside the infirmary. Young waved him back with one hand.

"Eli," Young said, wincing as a particularly spectacular scene of carnage burst across Rush's consciousness, this time from somewhere in Destiny's memory banks. "Can you talk to him? He's doing something—" Young waved a hand before pressing it against his aching temple. "I don't know _what _he's doing but it's not good."

Eli took up a position next to Greer and asked Rush a question in a conversational tone.

This seemed to distract the scientist.

Thank fucking _god_.

Rush murmured something to back to Eli, who frowned, asking another question.

"What did he say?" Young demanded.

Eli looked back over his shoulder, meeting Young's gaze with worried, red-rimmed eyes. "Um, he said he's trying to figure out what's happening, since no one will freaking explain it to him, and then I asked him the last thing he remembers and um—he said he doesn't know."

"That's fine," Young said, squinting back at him.

"That's _fine_?" Eli echoed.

"Just give him the gist of what's going on," Young said, rubbing his hand across his forehead.

TJ's hand tightened on his elbow as they rounded the infirmary doors. They went straight through to the back, passing Barnes, who watched them with quiet eyes from the gurney nearest TJ's office.

Greer carefully set Rush down on the gurney that Young had started to think of as 'his,' while Eli continued to talk to him.

Rush brought a shaky hand up to his temple, pressing it against his head as if that could steady him. He was clearly having a hard time even staying sitting.

Young reached forward to press him back, but TJ stopped him.

He's _got_ to eat," she murmured. "He hasn't eaten in almost three days and he needs to start right now." She vanished around the corner.

Eli seemed to finish his description of what happened, and Rush looked up at him, slowly pulling his right foot beneath him until he was sitting in a half cross-legged position. His left arm was wrapped around his chest, his right hand at his temple.

"Sanus es?" he asked Eli quietly, his entire attention focusing down on the young man.

"Yeah," Eli said quietly. "I mean, sic ego."

"Yeah?" Rush repeated, clearly skeptical.

"Yeah," Eli murmured back, giving Rush a wan smile.

Rush finally looked over at Young and Greer and asked a question.

Eli smirked slightly as he turned to them. "He wants to know why out of all the military personnel, only Lieutenant Scott has made any effort at all to learn Ancient. We're freaking living on an Ancient ship, after all."

"Did he say 'freaking'?" Greer asked skeptically.

"Um, no."

Rush was glaring at them.

Young smiled faintly, opening his hands. "Hey. We just carry the guns."

Greer gently kicked the metal frame of the gurney, shaking the bed slightly. "Asshole," he said.

TJ came back in, carrying a bowl of protein mush, her expression lifted, her eyes less troubled than Young had seen them in days. "God you two, be _nice _to him," she snapped, clearly trying to hide a smile. She handed the bowl to Rush, who looked at it disbelievingly.

He asked her a question, which was obviously something along the lines of, "What the hell is this?"

"What?" she said defensively. "It's good for you. If you eat this and you keep it down you can have an MRE later."

Rush picked up the spoon with an air of resignation, looking at Eli.

"Postea potes habere—um, MRE?" Eli translated uncertainly.

"MRE?" Rush repeated, his terribly altered accent causing Young to wince involuntarily.

"Um, crap," Eli said, "kind of like, praeparato farinae?"

"Quidquid," Rush sighed.

Eli smiled incredulously, the first real smile that Young had seen from him in days, as he rubbed a hand across tired eyes. "I think he just said '_whatever'_."

"And on that note," Greer said, looking at his watch, "I've gotta go. I'm on shift in five minutes. I'll see you later, Doc."

TJ produced a bottle of electrolytes and four pills, which she placed on the table next to Rush. "Tylenol and antivirals," she murmured. "Hopefully that should help with the fever and the headache."

Rush looked at them for a moment as Eli translated what TJ had said. His eyes swept the room, settled on Young, and then flicked back to the pills. After hesitating for a few seconds, he took them, then turned to Eli and snapped something at him, too fast for Young to catch.

"Um, he says that he doesn't really want three people standing around watching him eat."

"I don't blame you," TJ murmured at him. "I'm going to catch a few hours of sleep in one of the beds out there," she said, looking at Young. "Don't hesitate to wake me up if you need me." She looked over at Eli. "You should get some sleep as well. You're on medical leave for the rest of the day, so don't let anyone trap you into anything. Go to your quarters and _hide_." She smiled at him.

"Oh, they'll find me," Eli said. "They always do," he looked over at Young. "You want me to stay so you can talk to him?" Eli glanced at Rush.

"I don't think he's going to be awake for much longer," Young said quietly. "I think I can manage. Probably."

Eli said something to Rush, who nodded tiredly at him.

TJ fiddled around in the back for about three minutes, checking Rush's blood pressure again, making sure the monitors were set to alarm properly before finally leaving them alone.

Young sat down next to Rush on the gurney.

"Hey, genius," he said quietly.

"Hey," Rush replied, pushing his bowl of protein mush toward Young.

"Nope," Young said pushing it back toward him. "You still have to eat that, even if TJ's not here."

Rush said something that sounded simultaneously resigned and disdainful.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Young said quietly, fighting a wave of exhaustion and a wave of relief so profound that it seemed to carry away the last of his energy with it. "You have no idea what kind of hell you put me through, do you?"

Rush looked up, his eyes dark and glazed with exhaustion and fever. He set his bowl of protein down on the table next to him, and then reached out, laying a hand on Young's upper arm.

"Hey," he said quietly.

"You're being unusually nice," Young said in a whisper, his voice fading into nothing in the air.

"Yeah?" Rush murmured, his hand starting rub rhythmically up and down Young's upper arm.

"Yeah. You're also getting a hell of a lot of mileage out of two words." Young said, half smiling at him. He tried to hang on to his expression, tried to meet Rush's gaze, curious and intent despite the fever and exhaustion.

Try though he might, he failed to suppress the horrible suspicion that had been growing in his mind ever since Rush let Greer pick him up out of the chair. "The thing is," Young continued, his smile twisting into something unrecognizable as his eyes slid down and away, "is that I met you—a different version of you—when I sat in the neural interface chair, and I know you're not going to like this, but I really, _really_ want to make sure that the person we got back out of the chair—" he broke off.

Rush was looking at him uncertainly.

"I just want to make sure it's really _you_."

"Vellem intellegere te possit."

"But in order to do that, I have to look at your mind, genius, and you don't seem to want to let me. Which, you have to understand, just makes me more suspicious."

Young leaned forward, bringing a hand up to the side of Rush's head.

The scientist's reaction was immediate. He jerked sideways, away from Young, one hand coming up to close painfully around Young's raw, abraded forearm as the green glow of his heartbeat on the monitors behind him broke into a fast wave.

"Fuck off," Rush said, his voice wavering, and through their link Young could feel the familiar, terrible urge to _move—_

He hissed in pain as Rush's hand tightened around his arm.

His reaction seemed to derail Rush's building panic and the other man let go of his arm immediately.

"Quid accidit?" Rush demanded, unsnapping the cuff of Young's jacket to pull the sleeve up, exposing the white bandage beneath.

"Long story," Young murmured, pulling his hand back. "You remembered how to say 'fuck'. That's a good sign, I guess."

Rush looked at him steadily.

Again, more slowly this time, Young lifted his hand. Again, Rush flinched back, his heart rate rising, his breathing fast and shallow. "Noli facere," he whispered. "Quaeso."

"I'm not going to hurt you," Young said quietly. "I just need to check. If you'd had my week, you'd understand." Slowly he inched his hand toward Rush, changing the angle, bringing it to rest on the other man's shoulder, projecting a sense of calm for all he was worth.

Beneath his hand he could feel tiny tremors tearing through the muscles in Rush's back. The scientist was looking down, and Young could _feel_ the effort he was putting into holding still.

This was _stupid_.

It was also intolerable.

"Okay," he said, giving in, with an acute flare of guilt. "Maybe you're just really fucking tired of people tearing into your mind right now," he whispered. "Maybe it doesn't mean anything."

Under his grip, Rush continued to subtly shake, his head angled down and away.

"Okay," Young murmured again, running his hand down over Rush's shoulder, carefully starting to rub his back. "I'm sorry. We don't have to do this right now." Rush didn't look up at him and Young finally pulled away, giving the other man some space, hoping that would be enough to help him calm down.

Young stared at the floor for a moment, then shut his eyes.

He was so tired of all of this _shit_.

"Aegre fero," Rush murmured, his voice tight and miserable.

"Tell me about it," Young whispered, not opening his eyes.

"Yeah," Rush whispered back, his voice so quiet that Young could imagine that his inflection wasn't off, that he actually _understood_—

He felt Rush's hand close on his upper arm and he looked up.

Rush was looking at him, trying to project a wave of reassurance. It was poorly controlled, and exhausted, and it wavered in and out, but it was there.

"Hey," Rush said quietly, and pulled him forward. His arms came up, wrapping around Young's shoulders. "You're okay." The inflection, the emphasis was all wrong.

Young wrapped his arms around Rush, drawing him in. "I hope you're really you," he murmured, his voice a cracked whisper.

Rush didn't say anything, but managed to pull Young down with him as he laid back against the bed, until Young was half on top of him.

"Vos dormitis," Rush murmured, his eyes barely open, one hand in Young's hair.

"Yeah," Young said. "Quidquid."

"Mm," Rush agreed, sounding amused, the fingers of his right hand combing through Young's hair.

"Go to sleep, genius," Young murmured.

It was less than a minute before Rush's hand stilled, coming to rest heavily on the back of his neck. Young felt the scientist's mind transition over into sleep, losing what little order it had. He looked closer, examining the swirling mix of images and concepts, trying to detect any hint of the AI.

It was useless.

He needed Rush to open his mind to him completely, and that, at least for now, was not happening.

Young knew he shouldn't stay.

People would be looking for him. He was supposed to finish his report on the foothold situation by early afternoon so that Scott could start learning the key points for his briefing via the stones tomorrow morning. Telford was expecting Young to contact him regarding the attempt to wake Rush up.

Young _knew_ he shouldn't stay.

But, instead he kicked off his boots, pulled the blankets over the both of them, and he stayed anyway.


	30. Chapter 30

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Fanart for this chapter**: Has been done by the wonderful medianocheshallot! The link is in the reviews for this chapter.

**Additional notes:** After reading this chapter, please proceed to the oneshot "Alloy." This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>"Colonel."<p>

He had a vicious headache, and it felt very much like his eyelids were made of lead.

"Colonel Young."

He'd barely had any sleep at all in the past three days, as he was fairly sure unconsciousness did not count as sleeping. He was damned if he was getting up. He didn't hear any alarms, or weapons fire, or—

"Colonel _Young_," it was a woman's voice, quiet and urgent and very close to him.

He felt a hand close around his shoulder.

"Colonel Young, _wake up_."

It was Wray.

He dragged his eyelids open and the room came slowly into focus, all bright lines and angles and glaring white sheets. He felt like he was moving through water, every motion a battle against invisible drag. His head seemed to have encountered an icepick at some point. His vision was blurring, his back ached with the persistent, dull throb that had been with him for days now and—

Shit.

_Shit_.

He had fallen asleep.

With _Rush_.

_In the infirmary_.

Wray, _Wray_ _for god's sake_, was shaking him awake, her still-bloodshot eyes wide, her expression frozen into a neutral mask.

"Shit," he said, "Camile, I—"

"Shh." The utterance was barely audible even though she was about six inches from his face. She had one finger to her lips. "Quietly," she mouthed, tipping her head back, indicating the open doorway.

Young froze.

"And _I'm_ telling _you_ that you _can't go back there_," TJ said, her voice sharp.

"You don't have that authority," Telford snapped. "My team was supposed to be involved in any attempt to wake up Dr. Rush. Colonel Young confirmed it. If you've gone outside the chain of command on this one, TJ, I will court marital you faster than you can spell your fucking nickname."

Telford sounded _pissed_.

Young carefully extricated himself from Rush's grip and stood. Almost immediately he felt the blood leave his head and his vision started to grey out, but Wray was there, pulling him down towards the floor, pushing his head down, then helping him kneel.

"Medical decisions are the purview of the chief medical officer," TJ snapped back, her voice coolly professional.

"This isn't just a medical decision," Telford snapped. "Dr. Rush is integral to the functioning of the ship which makes this, _primarily_, a tactical call."

Wray was crouching beside him, her face hidden by the dark sweep of her hair as she turned away, unfolding as she reached out along the floor to drag his boots over within reach. She set them silently in front of him and then touched his shoulder, meeting his eyes with obvious concern.

He nodded at her, shifting his position to start pulling his boots on. She stood, reaching out toward Rush's gurney, straightening the sheets, smoothing out the blankets, before dropping back down in front of him. She began deftly lacing up his right boot as he pulled on the left one.

"A tactical call," TJ snapped back, her voice low and grim. "A _tactical call_? I wonder if General O'Neill would agree with you on that one, colonel," she snapped. "With the ship currently in _no obvious danger_—"

"The Nakai are _tracking us_, lieutenant, they _must be_. This ship is _constantly_ in danger and its functional status something that it's critical to ascertain, so _move out of the way_."

"No, sir."

Wray had finished lacing up his second boot. Her hands reached out and up, rapidly smoothing down Young's hair and then she was pulling him to his feet—but slowly. Very slowly.

"That was a direct order, _lieutenant_, or wasn't that clear?"

"My authority here supersedes yours, _colonel_." TJ's voice was icy.

Young leaned against Rush's gurney, crossing his arms, trying to strike a casual pose. Wray dropped down in the chair next to the bed, looking nearly as exhausted as Young felt. They heard a soft clatter from around the corner, and they locked eyes before looking up at the doorway.

Telford rounded the frame of the door, his expression dark. He stopped short as he took in Young and Wray.

TJ appeared behind Telford almost immediately, her expression harassed.

"Did you just _shove aside_ my chief medical officer, colonel?" Young growled, trying not to give any indication of how unsteady he felt.

"I stepped past her," Telford said, his tone suddenly guarded, the volume of his voice dropping as his eyes flicked over to take in Rush. "Lieutenant Johansen tells me that she woke him up this morning," Telford said grimly. "I was under the impression that my team was going to be involved in any attempt—"

Young held up a hand, cutting him off. "Did you give her a chance to explain why it was medically necessary to wake him?" he asked, hoping that TJ would be able to manufacture something on the spot if she hadn't already. "Or did you just try to charge in here?"

Telford looked at TJ with narrowed eyes. She stared back at him with perfect equanimity.

"Go ahead, lieutenant," Young said, keeping his voice mild.

"He was beginning to develop an allergy to the anesthetic we were using," TJ said smoothly. "I had to take him off immediately."

Telford swung his gaze back to Young.

"So, did you talk to him?" Telford asked. "Is he—" Telford made a circular gesture with one hand.

"He was pretty out of it," Young said, which was partially true. "I'm not sure yet if there are going to be any long term effects from this."

"His functional status should have been assessed _immediately_," Telford said. "He's integral to the functioning of the ship, making this is a tactical _requirement_."

"No." Wray's voice was cold.

Young and Telford both turned to look at her.

"Dr. Rush is a _civilian_ member of this crew and is not subject to your orders—something that most of the military personnel on this ship seem to _forget_." She eyed both of them. "He is under _my _jurisdiction, and the balance between his rights as an individual versus the effect that his status has on the safety of the crew is _mine_ to weigh. Not yours. Not _either_ of yours. Not until this ship comes under attack." She stood up, her low black pumps echoing as she took a few steps forward. "And right now, _no one_ is waking him up. The man has been unconscious for three days and he needs time to recover. To the extent that I can, I intend on giving it to him. So I want both of you out of here. Right now."

Young and Telford stared at her.

"I _said_," Wray repeated, "_Right_. _Now_."

"Fair enough," Young said quietly, motioning Telford to precede him out of the room. As he followed, still a bit unsteady on his feet, he turned, looking at Wray over his shoulder. She gave him a small smile.

"Thanks," he mouthed at her.

She gave him a subtle thumbs-up.

After leaving the infirmary, Young and Telford parted ways almost immediately.

He barely managed to make it around the corner before leaning against a bulkhead and sliding down the wall.

He felt _wretched_.

He had held up pretty well for the past three days if one didn't count the twelve hours of unconsciousness somewhere in the middle, but the headache that had slammed into his mind the second he'd pulled Rush off that monitor bank had stayed with him for the entire time.

At the moment, it was god damned _excruciating_.

He'd barely been able to sleep and he hadn't been eating regularly, not by design—he'd just, lost his sense of time.

This was certainly Rush's fault.

It was either _coming_ from him or _caused _by him, and it didn't even really fucking matter _which_ was the case, because there was no way, _no way_ that Young would even consider blocking the other man out of his mind.

If it even _was_ Rush.

Maybe that was the problem.

God, he wanted to know.

He wanted to know _so badly_ that he could feel it everywhere; from his mind to his nail beds.

Rush had never been like this—he's _always_ been able to understand English. He'd _always_ been able to snap back into speaking it almost immediately. He'd _always_ fought Young every inch of the way, about everything, through their entire relationship—it was a part of who he was.

God, what if they'd gotten something back out of the chair that wasn't—

Why hadn't he just pulled the answer out of Rush's mind when he had the chance?

Then he would _know_.

He could have done it—could have forced his way past Rush's iterative defenses, he could have destroyed them in the wrecked, disorganized state that they were in and if he had done so, he wouldn't have to sit here, _wondering_ whether that was Rush in there, or some—some _thing._

A _thing _with his eyes and his hands and his mannerisms—

A thing.

A thing that had looked sadly out over the sea toward the edge of the world.

A _thing_.

He was just—_so _tired.

James rounded the corner, her jacket unfastened, her hair down, clearly off-shift.

"Colonel," she said in surprise, as her pace picked up. He watched her boots transition to a fast walk and then to a jog as she approached his position. She dropped into a crouch, already reaching for her radio.

He stopped her, one hand reaching out to close around her wrist. He shook his head and she froze, looking at him with wide, dark eyes.

"_Sir_—"

"I'm fine, lieutenant," he said quietly. "I just—needed a minute."

"Yes sir," she murmured, watching him skeptically. "How did things go last night?"

"I don't know," Young murmured, rubbing a hand over his face. "He woke up, but—" he broke off.

James reached out, resting a hand on his shoulder. As she moved, her jacket shifted, revealing a ring of bruises at the base of her neck.

"But he can't speak English, he's only speaking Ancient and I just—I just get the feeling that he's not quite right."

"In what way?" she asked quietly, looking a bit out of her depth.

"He's just—not being a complete bastard, amongst other things."

James smiled briefly at him. "Well," she said, "I'm sure you know him better than I do, sir, but I'd say there's at least some evidence that, at baseline, Rush actually _isn't_ a _complete_ bastard." She smiled at him again—a brief flash that didn't reach her eyes. "Plus, you look pretty terrible at the moment. Maybe he was feeling sorry for you."

"Maybe," Young said.

"Besides," James said quietly. "Think about all the energy it takes to achieve Doc-level bastard-ism. It's got to be just ridiculous. Running around, yelling at people _all_ the time. Maybe he's just tired."

"Maybe," Young said, smiling wanly at her.

"Are you on shift right now?" James asked him.

"Yeah," Young said. "Technically, although I just slept through—" he broke of to look down at his watch. "Almost the first two hours of it."

"Well," James said. "Your secret is safe with me. Any way you can sleep through the rest of it? With respect, sir, you look like you need it."

Young shook his head. "I don't think so, lieutenant."

"Yeah," James said quietly, giving him a sympathetic look. "I guess not." She looked at her watch and shrugged. "Only six hours to go. For you? That's nothin'." She smiled at him again. "You want a hand?"

He could see why Rush liked her.

She grabbed his elbow and hauled him to his feet with surprising strength.

"How's the neck?" he asked her.

"Fine," she replied, looking away. "Which way are you headed?"

"Um," Young said, trying to get a handle on his mental to-do list. "I need to find Lieutenant Scott, go over what he's going to report to Earth."

"Last I saw him, he was on the bridge," she fell into step beside him. "Anything I can do to help you out, sir?"

"You're off-shift, lieutenant," Young said.

"Eh. What else am I going to do with my time? It's no problem."

"If you could just—go hang out in the infirmary, and make sure none of Telford's team comes by to harass Rush, that would be great. TJ and Wray have pretty much got things covered, but they could use some backup."

"Sure," James said. "No problem."

They parted ways at the door to the bridge.

"Thanks, lieutenant," he said.

She waved him off.

* * *

><p>Young spent most of the day finishing his report for Homeworld Command. He dropped by the infirmary to pick up his second dose of Tylenol for the day around seventeen hundred hours and ate an early dinner with TJ and Wray.<p>

Rush was still dead to the world, so he headed back out to finish up bureaucratic odds and ends. Sometime around nineteen hundred hours he felt Rush wake up—the random array of images that had been running in the back of his mind all day becoming a bit more distressed—a bit more directed.

Chloe was with him.

Briefly, Young brushed against his thoughts only to feel Rush, again, reflexively pull away.

Fine.

He could keep himself busy.

* * *

><p>When he walked back into the infirmary a bit after twenty-two hundred, he noticed that Reynolds had been released, leaving only Barnes in the main room.<p>

She gave him an uncertain smile as he passed, and he slowed his pace, walking over to stand next to her bedside.

"How's the side, corporal?" he asked her, squinting even in the dim, evening lights.

"It's fine, sir," she said, her face pale. "TJ tells me I'm going to have a kick-ass scar, so—hey. That's something."

He flashed a smile at the tough-guy attitude.

"When are you supposed to be up and around?" he asked her, leaning against her gurney.

"TJ says I can be out of here day after tomorrow if there aren't any problems with infection," she replied.

"Well," he said, "see that there aren't."

"Yes sir," she said. "How's Dr. Rush, sir?"

Young looked away, toward the back of the infirmary. The lights were completely turned down. "Not sure, corporal," he said quietly.

"Can I ask what happened to him?" she said, looking like she wasn't sure if she was overstepping her bounds.

"You can ask," he murmured, trailing off.

"Understood. There are just a lot of rumors—"

He raised his eyebrows at her, prompting her to elaborate.

"He's been in the infirmary for three days but no one saw him take a hit—there's a rumor that the Nakai—that they interrogated him and he's not waking up. Other people say that Colonel Telford—well. It's a small crew. Everyone's worried."

"What about Colonel Telford?" he asked her quietly.

"It's ridiculous," she said, her tone brusque. "I'm sure it's not true."

"Corporal," his voice was sharp.

Her eyes met his steadily.

"I heard that Eli and Telford had an argument outside the mess early this afternoon, and Eli said something indicating Telford was somehow responsible for Rush's current condition. That being said, I'm stuck in here and hearing this at least third hand, so—"

Young nodded. "Eli's had a rough time of it."

Barnes nodded back at him. "I know. I heard that too. It's just—" she broke off. "A lot of the guys, I mean, the military personnel, have really warmed up to the Doc. Greer's always talking him up." She shrugged. "He's getting a bit of a rep."

"A 'rep'?" Young asked, amused.

"As a badass motherfucker," Barnes said, "if you'll pardon the expression, sir."

That surprised a short laugh out of Young. "Yeah," he said. "Don't tell him I said this, but—I'd say that assessment isn't _too_ far off base, corporal."

"Yes sir," she smiled, a quick, infectious flash of teeth.

"I'll see you later," he said, pushing away from her gurney.

"Tell the Doc I say hi," she murmured.

Young nodded at her, slightly bemused.

He wouldn't have been surprised to learn that Rush and Barnes had never exchanged more than ten words.

_God_. If it even _was _Rush back there.

Young passed TJ's office where yellow light spilled out of the doorway into the darkened infirmary. Her eyes flashed up at him as he appeared in the doorway. She gave him a quick nod and then returned to the report she was typing.

He rounded the corner at the back of the infirmary, pausing briefly to let his eyes adjust to the dark.

He froze in surprise at the sight in front of him.

Chloe was lying on Rush's gurney, shoulder to shoulder with him. They had a laptop open on their laps on which some kind of period movie featuring girls in long dresses was playing.

Rush looked up at him as he came in and gave him a small shrug, subtly rolling his eyes.

"Wait no, _watch_," Chloe said, elbowing him, her eyes glued to the screen. "This is the best part. Colin Firth is going to jump in the pond. Oh my god. I almost died the first time I saw this."

"Pessimae sunt signis," Rush said, his eyes half-closed.

"My standards are _not_ low," Chloe snapped indignantly.

Young cleared his throat and Chloe jumped.

"Colonel," she said, propping herself up on one elbow. "Hi. Sorry. We were just—"

Young crossed his arms, trying to hide his amusement. "What are you watching?" he asked.

"Um, it's the A&E version of Pride and Prejudice."

"Dicite ei quod sex horarum," Rush said, glancing at her.

"Actually, why don't _you_ tell him?" Chloe looked up at Young. "He's getting his English back really fast. I figured watching movies would help things along. His comprehension is much better than it was."

Young looked at Rush, raising his eyebrows, trying to shake his sense of _wrongness_, but failing entirely.

"What?" Rush snapped at him, his accent still off.

"I thought you wanted to tell me something," Young said mildly, opening his hands.

"It is six hours long," Rush said carefully.

"Oh my god," Chloe said. "That sounded obscene. Just—try to say it more like Mr. Darcy would. You know—it's six hours long," Chloe modeled some sort of generic British-sounding accent.

"It's six hours long," Rush repeated, narrowing his eyes at Chloe. It was an improvement, but still not remotely normal.

"What's six hours long?" Young asked.

Rush reached over and picked up the DVD case that was lying on the table next to the bed and shook it vaguely at him.

"The movie?" Young said. "How can it be six hours long?"

"It's actually more like a mini-series," Chloe said. "I may have not been entirely forthright about that. But it's not _six hours_."

"How long _is _it?" Young asked, feeling somewhat out of his depth.

"_Five_ hours," Chloe said primly.

"Potestis eripere me?" Rush asked Young.

"Oh stop," Chloe said. "It's been helpful. You know it has. We're finishing the rest of it later."

"What did he say?" Young asked, watching Chloe disentangle herself from the computer wires and sit up.

"Nothing," she said, rolling her eyes.

Young looked at Rush. "You know, Barnes was just out there telling me that everyone thinks you're a badass motherfucker, and then I come in and you're watching a five hour version of _Pride and Prejudice_? That's not really very badass."

Rush narrowed his eyes. "Badass?"

"Kind of like awesome meets scary," Chloe said. "Though I believe the term the Colonel is looking for is BAMF."

Rush stared at her.

"Oh fine, that was pretty colloquial," she said, then fired off a line of Ancient at him as she clicked her laptop shut and grabbed the DVD cover out of Rush's hand.

"When did you learn Ancient?" Young asked her, raising his eyebrows.

"I've got a fair amount of time on my hands," Chloe murmured. "Plus, it's basically a requirement if you're going to be a part of the science team."

Rush murmured something at Young, which sounded distinctly disapproving.

"Yeah, yeah," Young said, rolling his eyes at the other man. "So teach me some Ancient, why don't you?"

Rush just looked at him.

Chloe watched them for a few seconds, then cleared her throat. "I'm um, I'm going to go, unless you need any translating. But like I said, he's getting better really rapidly." Without really waiting for an answer, she disappeared around the corner

"So," Young said, coming to sit on the edge of Rush's gurney. "Impress me with these new English skills of yours."

Rush shrugged at him, looking away.

"Come on," Young said, bringing a hand up to massage his temples.

"No," Rush murmured quietly.

"No?" Young repeated, sighing. "You're a lot of work. You know that? Come on. Talk to me."

"You don't like it," Rush said carefully. "I can tell."

It was true.

Young _didn't_ like it.

"I'm worried," Young murmured into the darkness, "that's all."

"Why?" Rush whispered.

"Because, genius," Young said, his voice cracking. "I think you might not be you anymore."

Rush looked at him, his eyes dark and unreadable.

Young wasn't sure if he'd understood.

"I need to look at your mind," Young said, lifting a hand toward Rush's temple. "Really look."

"No," Rush said, tensing immediately, half coming up onto his elbows.

Young had been afraid of this.

"Why _not_?" he asked him, unable to entirely keep the misery out of his tone.

"I don't want that you would see it," Rush said, his phrasing slightly awkward, his accent still altered. He was sliding backward, inching away from Young.

"I have to," Young whispered. "Don't you understand? I _have_ to."

"No," Rush said emphatically. "_You_ do not fix _me_. _I_ fix _you_. Later. Not now."

"I don't think you're quite grasping the nature of the problem," Young whispered, holding up both hands. "But that's okay," he murmured. "That's okay."

Rush stopped inching back.

"That's okay?" Rush repeated uncertainly.

"Yeah," Young said, reaching out carefully to touch his upper arm. "I have a different plan. Don't worry about it. It's a little bit underhanded. You know that word? Underhanded?" Young was projecting calm for all he was worth.

"Define underhanded," Rush said.

"Why don't you sit up for a minute," Young murmured, ignoring Rush's demand.

"Sit?"

"Yeah," Young said easily, managing to slide a few inches forward as he pulled Rush up.

"Why sit?" Rush asked, his tone suspicious. "Headache."

"Yeah, I know, genius, but here's the thing. You won't let me look in your head, right, and that's pretty much imperative. So I need to get you to do something else."

"Non intelligere te possit. Ut aliis verbis." Rush said quietly.

"Yeah," Young said, trying to keep his thoughts and hands steady. "Confused? You know that one?"

"What are you doing?" Rush whispered.

They were inches apart. The room was dark, lit only by the light that spilled from TJ's open door and from the base of the walls, where the emergency lights glowed a faint blue.

"Well, to put it colloquially, I'm trying to get you to make out with me, genius."

"Define 'make out'," Rush whispered suspiciously, his eyes black in the darkness, his thoughts a dark, unreadable swirl. His hair picked up the blue highlights from the lights that ran the perimeter of the room.

Young pulled him forward the last few inches, kissing him gently, his hands immediately loosening where they had closed around Rush's upper arms.

The scientist jerked back, surprised, his eyes flicking between Young's hands and the doorway in an anxious iteration of shifting gaze.

"Make out," Rush said wryly, his voice low and immediate.

"Yeah," Young said, giving him a half smile.

"Bad idea," Rush whispered. "For _you_."

"So you've said," Young murmured. "But you haven't convinced me. Or yourself either, I don't think."

"Define convinced," Rush murmured, his eyes wide and dark, the restlessness of his gaze slowing under the weight of Young's undemanding, sustained attention.

Young said nothing, watching Rush track the slow progression of his hands, as he closed the space that separated them.

"Convinced is going to be you, in about thirty seconds," Young said, pulling him into a kiss made circumspect by the open, unconfining press of his hands over Rush's biceps.

After an interval of indecision, Rush brought both his hands up, one coming around the back of Young's neck, pulling him in, weaving through his hair, the other coming to rest over Young's collarbone, as if retaining the option of shoving him away.

Rush's thoughts coiled in waiting resistance, but Young gave him nothing to set himself against. He kept his hands and his thoughts open as he matched the scientist's cautious kiss with an undemanding reflection of effort.

He was trying not to scare the hell out of the other man.

So far, it seemed to be working.

When he felt Rush relax marginally, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders and neck, Young slid his hands down until he had hooked his fingers into the belt loops of Rush's borrowed BDUs. He yanked the other man forward abruptly, sliding him over sheets and over the blankets, until no space remained between them.

Rush made a quiet, surprised noise in the back of his throat that dissolved beneath the pressure of Young's projected reassurance.

Slowly, he brought one hand up, his palm flat against Rush's back, feeling the rapid, repetitive beat of his heart.

And there, he waited.

He waited until he had managed to pull Rush half into his lap. He waited until he could feel the tension draining out of the other man's shoulders, his back. He waited until Rush's mouth was consistently opening under his own, letting him in, letting him—

Without warning all of Rush's mental resistance folded and Young could see into his mind.

He had been prepared to encounter the AI, but instead—

God.

This was _not_ the AI.

This was—

A wreck.

A pained, shattered _wreck_ held together only by processing power and a strong, clear sense of self. There was no order, there was no context—comprehension was only occurring through force of will, but already, _already,_ Rush was beginning to _rebuild_ it, and Young understood that he had done this before.

He had done it after Anubis's device had shattered his mind.

Then he had done it again when Young had left him to die and the Nakai had taken him.

And now, he was doing it for a _third_ time, and he—he just didn't want Young to see.

Young poured his presence through their link, providing energy, providing a sense of order, of temporal sequencing, and within the scientist's mind he was able to pull forward what was _Rush_ and shove back what had come from Destiny. As he did so, the other man stilled under his hands, his heart rate slowing, his eyelids fluttering as his head tipped back, his awareness fading as Young flooded his entire mental landscape—

Ordering it.

Forcing _Rush_ to order it.

After a few moments, Young carefully withdrew, trying to imitate the way that Rush had pulled out of _his_ mind on other occasions—like rain, draining gently away, like the tide receding, with nothing left behind except a sense of calm.

The room shifted back into dark focus, the low lighting glinting to a painful edge where it reflected off the monitors and the curved metal of the walls.

Young adjusted his grip to deal with the slow inevitability of Rush's unbalancing, one hand over his back, the other guiding the scientist's head down to his shoulder.

"Sorry, genius," he whispered, but even as he said it, it did nothing to blunt the intensity of his relief.

It had told him the truth.

That thing in the chair.

Thank _god._

"Hey," he murmured quietly into Rush's hair. "Are you okay?"

Rush sent him a vague sense of exhausted assent through their link, and, taking that as an invitation, Young snapped together with the scientist, shocked to feel how much his efforts had exhausted the other man.

"Did that tire you out, genius?" He whispered absently, running his fingers through the hair at the base of Rush's neck.

"No," the scientist murmured, his eyes shut, collapsed bonelessly against Young.

"You don't have even a remote idea of what I just did, do you?" Young whispered, soothingly, continuing to run his right hand through Rush's hair.

"Make out," Rush murmured against his shoulder.

"Yeah," Young whispered. "Close enough. I'll tell you later. Come on, genius. You need to lie down."

Young pressed him back, coming forward himself until he was lying halfway on top of Rush.

"Define close enough," Rush murmured.

"I'll tell you later," Young said, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at the scientist.

"Mendacity," Rush murmured listlessly.

"_Mendacity_?" Young repeated incredulously. "That's at least a five dollar word. Are you calling me a liar? That's a bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

Rush stared at him for a moment, and Young was fairly sure he hadn't gotten much of that, but then he cocked his head and said, "Yes. Deceitful. Define hypocritical."

"God," Young said. "Um, characteristic of being a hypocrite."

"Not helpful," Rush murmured.

"You. You're a hypocrite."

"You're bad at English," Rush replied, clearly annoyed. "I cannot be all these things."

"All what things?" Young asked him.

"Pain in the ass, genius, idiot, doc, hot mess, badass, convinced, tired, hypocrite."

"Yes you can. Who called you a 'hot mess'?"

"Chloe is better than you," Rush murmured, ignoring his question.

"Better at what?" Young said indignantly.

"English."

"Go to sleep," Young growled at him.

"Not tired," Rush murmured, his eyes mostly shut.

"Incorrect," Young said.

"Unlikely," Rush replied, smiling faintly at him.

"You're a lot of work."

"Link fixed," Rush murmured.

"_Our _link _is_ fixed," Young corrected. "But yes, it is, fortunately."

"Stay anyway?"

"You're getting awfully lazy with your verbs and pronouns there, genius."

"You learn Ancient then. One day. Four hours awake _only_. Also? Very tired. You do something. No explaining." Rush narrowed his eyes.

"Okay," Young said, dropping his head down to rest on Rush's shoulder. "You have a point there, I suppose."

"Staying?" Rush breathed.

"Obviously."

"Define 'obviously'." Rush seemed to be _trying_ to keep himself awake.

Young frowned.

"It means yes, but like, really obviously yes."

"Worst definition. All day."

"Oh stop," Young murmured. "Something obvious is something you can clearly see. This is obviously an infirmary. I am obviously staying, because you can _see_ that I am."

"Better," Rush said, "Marginally."

"Thanks," Young said dryly.

They were quiet for a minute, and Young could feel Rush struggling against sleep, still trying to order his mind.

"Talk," Rush murmured quietly.

"Go to _sleep_," Young murmured.

"_Talk_," Rush said insistently.

"You _never_ want to talk."

"_You_ talk."

Young sighed. "You are _incredibly_ tired. Don't fight this, genius—"

_He inhales, pulling the stuff into his lungs. It's thick and viscous and heavy and _choking him_ and even though he knows this is a part of it, he can't stop fighting. He thinks it would help if he knew where it came from—this substance that's going to kill him or save him, or change him, or set him free. He wishes he knew whether it was Ancient, or Goa'uld, or some twisted combination of the two invented by Anubis. God, he hopes it's Ancient, please, _please_ let it be Ancient. But he suspects that it's not—their technology has always been kinder than this, crystals and delicate midair displays and beautifully redundant systems and demanding, yes, certainly, but not this way, _not this way_, and the sensation is horrible, terrifying, and he thinks of Gloria, _Gloria_, struggling to breathe, waiting for him. They all—all of them, they _wait_ for him and he always comes too late. His hands come up to close around Telford's wrists, but that's all they do. He's going still. _

_It's silver. _

_And it's quiet. _

_His hair fans around him as his muscles relax and his head falls back. He feels Telford adjust his grip, finding his hands, interlacing their fingers—_

And _shit_, this one was Young's fault. No question about that.

The motion familiar by now, Young snapped his thoughts to the side, into—

"_Son of a _bitch_," Mitchell growls as Young tackles him to the grass. They go down hard, harder than Young intended and he looks up just in time to see Telford field the interception, his outline dark against the pale blue sky. "That is what I'm _talking _about," Sheppard says, suddenly behind him, yanking Young to his feet, clapping him once on the back as he looks down at Mitchell, who's still lying there, eyes shut. After a moment, Mitchell raises his head to glare at Jackson. "Jackson, what the hell was _that_? You threw it right _to_ the guy." Telford opens his hands in an artless who-me type gesture and Sheppard smiles lazily. "This is somehow _your _fault,_" _Mitchell says to Sheppard. "How come you always get the former football players and I always get the aliens?_" _Young reaches a hand down to Mitchell and pulls him to his feet with a grin. "You got first pick, Cam," Sheppard says mildly. "Stop choosing them." Mitchell smiles wryly. "You would think Teal'c would be awesome at this game. And Ronon? Come on. Don't you guys play football on Atlantis?" Sheppard cocks his head, running a hand through hair that's always a bit too long. "Nah. We mostly play golf, actually."_

"Sorry," Young said as Rush tensed, jerking subtly beneath him. "Sorry, that was my fault."

"Yes," Rush snapped, sounding awake, sounding _upset_. "So talk."

"What should I talk about?" Young asked, looking out into the darkness.

"_Talk_. _Idiot_."

"So. Pride and Prejudice? Are you kidding me? That is the most chick-flick of all chick flicks."

"For girls?" Rush murmured.

"You got it."

"Chloe is a girl."

"True. What I'm saying though is that it's _nice_ of you to put up with such a boring movie."

"Too much killing," Rush murmured pensively.

Young raised his eyebrows.

"Um, too much _killing_? Which version were you guys _watching_? I'm pretty sure that last time I checked there was _no_ killing in Pride and Prejudice."

"Too much killing _for_ _Chloe_," Rush snapped disdainfully. "Not today. _Before_."

"Ah," Young said. "Right."

He was _not_ embarrassed.

"Idiot."

"Look, in my defense, you're being awfully vague, you know. But yeah. Chloe did take down a lot of Nakai."

"Not good." Rush sighed.

"I guess not. But on the upside, she's got some nice things coming her way. I think she might get proposed to at some point in the near future."

"Define proposed to."

"Um, married? Engaged?"

"Lieutenant Scott?" Rush asked.

"Yeah. He's the one."

Rush made a disapproving noise in the back of his throat.

"What's wrong with Scott?" Young asked defensively.

"Nothing." Rush shrugged without much energy. "Grad school is better."

"Just because they get married doesn't mean she won't go to graduate school."

"Maybe."

"Look you. I already told Scott that you were going to help Brody make an engagement ring."

"Presumptive."

Young snorted. "You have other plans?"

"Very busy," Rush said, looking up at him with dark eyes. "Tomorrow. Day after. Day after that. Fix ship."

"Come on. This is getting ridiculous, what are you, some kind of intergalactic refugee? Tomorrow, _I will be_ very busy. I will be fixing the ship."

Rush sighed, his eyes flickering closed briefly. "Tomorrow I will be very busy fixing the ship."

"Good. But actually, you _won't_ be, because you're on medical leave."

"You define medical leave," Rush said, and Young could _hear_ him narrowing his eyes.

"No 'you.' Just 'define medical leave, please.' Please would be nice. Anyway, medical leave is where you sleep all day, watch movies, make engagement rings, no doing work. Like a sick day."

"No," Rush said. "I do not have medical leave."

"Yes you do."

"No."

"Yes."

"_No_."

"Um, _yes_. You're not winning this one. Pick something else to argue about."

"Fuck off," Rush said, without much ire.

"How the hell are you ever going to go to sleep if you just keep pissing yourself off? Just try to think about nice things. _Nice_. Like where you grew up."

"It's not nice there," Rush murmured, clearly making more of an effort to speak in sentences after Young's 'intergalactic refugee' comment.

"Fine. _I_ grew up somewhere nice. Six miles south of the North Platte River, actually."

"Where's that?"

"The Intermountain West," Young said, unnecessarily smoothing Rush's hair back.

"Not the coast?"

"No. Not the coast. Are you just practicing your vocab or are you going somewhere with this?"

"I don't make out with Americans not from the coast. Policy. I have that as a policy."

"Too late," Young smirked at him.

"Not my fault," Rush murmured.

"You should have asked. Anyway, the west is nice. Very rugged terrain, lots of scenery and bears and pine forests and snow and outdoor sports. Hockey is very popular."

"Hockey?" His eyes were shut.

"Hockey in the winter, football in the fall, and baseball in the spring and summer," Young said quietly.

"Mmm," Rush said, managing to sound exhausted and unsurprised and a little bit disdainful at the same time.

"I know. A bit of overkill to play them all, right? But eventually I just stuck with the hockey. It can get quite vicious, you know. You'd probably be good at it. Unfortunately, you don't have the right physique. You're built more like a sprinter—track and field kind of guy. Maybe a soccer player. Maybe. Maybe just captain of the math team."

Rush didn't answer.

"Are you asleep? _Finally_?" Young whispered.

No answer.

He gently brushed against Rush's thoughts, careful not to disturb the fading, disorganized patterns of Rush's dreams.

"Thank god." Young reached over carefully to grab Rush's mobile phone from the bedside table. He flipped it open to check the alarm settings and then rolled his eyes when he saw that it was set to go off at oh five hundred.

"Nice try, genius," Young murmured. He switched the phone to vibrate, reset the alarm and then pocketed it.

TJ would see them at some point, but—she would understand.

He hoped.


	31. Chapter 31

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** Arc of adorableness continues. For those of you who don't like it, fear not, more action and adventure ahead. For those who do like it, enjoy it while it lasts. This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>The lighting illuminated Destiny's corridors and rooms with its usual yellow glow. The hum of the FTL drive vibrated under Young's feet as he made his way toward the control interface room.<p>

In the back of his mind, Young could feel Rush's thoughts swirling with irritation, which, upon inspection, seemed to be primarily directed at TJ.

Carefully, he withdrew, fairly sure that Rush hadn't detected his intrusion.

That seemed to be happening more and more.

When he rounded the doorway to the CI room, Eli and Brody were sitting side by side behind one of the monitor banks, in the midst of what looked to be an intense, quiet conversation.

"I see what you're saying," Eli said, his tone low and barely carrying the twelve feet that separated him from Young. Eli gave Brody a significant look from under his eyebrows. "But if it's true that the Nakai had been on board Destiny _a long time ago_, then one—why did they leave? And two—why didn't they, or _couldn't_ they subsequently reboard? I'm just a bit—I don't know, I guess skeptical is the word. What _exactly_ did he say to you?"

"It was one of those pronouncement-type things that he does, and then Greer—" Brody broke off abruptly, as he saw Young standing in the doorway. "Colonel. Hi."

"Hi," Young said, narrowing his eyes.

Brody seemed nervous.

"Oh hey," Eli said, relaxing his shoulders, deliberately opening his posture. "We were just talking about the Nakai tracking device that we have yet to get the heck off this ship. Can we talk to Rush about this soon? He's going crazy with this enforced medical leave _anyway,_ as you may have noticed."

Eli _also _seemed nervous.

"Rush can go back on duty when his fever breaks and not before, unless there's some kind of emergency," Young replied, his tone mild.

"Yeah," Eli said, drawing out the word. "And what are the chances of us having an _emergency_ any time soon? Basically zero. Track record be _damned_. That's what I say." He gave Young a wry smile.

Brody reached out to rap his knuckles against the console. "Knock on wood," he said, looking up at the ceiling.

"That's not wood," Eli pointed out.

"Do you see any wood around here?" Brody asked shortly.

"Um, no, not really."

"Seriously guys," Young said, sharpening his tone. "I don't want to bring Rush in on this until we have to. He puts on a good show, mostly, but—" Young broke off waving his hand.

"I heard that you let Telford talk to him this morning," Eli said. "How did _that_ go?"

"About like you might expect," Young said, feeling drained just _recalling_ the event. "Certain parties getting frustrated, certain parties getting pissed off, certain parties pushing really goddamn hard, and then third parties not being happy about that."

"Sounds fun," Eli said dryly.

"Yeah. Really fun," Young reached up to rub his jaw. "But it was also pretty obvious that despite all the bitching he's doing at the moment, he's exhausted and sick as hell. Maybe you guys can put something together and then run it by him? Much as he's demanding his laptop, I really can't see him putting in more than half an hour of actual work at this point."

"Yeah," Eli said, hesitating, "I'm sure we _can_, it just seems like—" Eli broke off, looking at Brody, and then plowed ahead. "It seems like he might, _possibly_, have some information about this tracking device."

"If he knew _anything_ about it, don't you think he would have _told_—" Young broke off, dropping his head forward, reaching up to press his fingers into his temple out of habit.

He sighed, then walked forward, pulling up a stool to sit with the pair of them.

They watched him silently. Like they were waiting for an explosion.

"So. Of course he knows something about it. Of _course_ he does." Young opened his hand and waved it at Brody and Eli in a loose circular motion. "What. Just tell me."

"Um," Brody said, his expression somewhat alarmed. "I don't think it's as bad as all that. Yesterday I happened to see him when we were doing that thing for Lieutenant Scott, and he happened to ask me how the search for the tracking device was going." Brody stopped there.

"And then?" Young finally prompted him.

"And then I said that we were focusing on the exterior of the hull, because that's likely where the Nakai would have been able to access historically, because they never got on board the ship prior to our arrival, and they were _already_ tracking it." Brody paused again.

"And _then_?" Young growled.

"And then he said that they _had_ gotten on board, early in Destiny's mission."

Young stared at him. "You're kidding me."

"Um, no?"

"Anything _else_?" Young growled.

"Nope, that was it. I didn't get to ask any follow-up questions."

"When were you guys going to tell _me_ this?"

"Hey, don't look at me, I just heard about it five minutes ago," Eli said, his hands open.

"I, um," Brody broke off, clearly uncomfortable. "I figured you already knew. Probably"

"That's great. That's just _great_," Young said, more to himself than anyone else.

"Hey," Eli snapped, his voice suddenly sharp. "There's no indication he knows anything about the tracking device. All he knows is that the Nakai boarded Destiny at some point in the past, which is information he _probably_ got from the ship's memory banks, and might not have even been consciously _aware_ of until Brody said something. I'm pretty damn sure that he doesn't have some kind of _secret, pro-Nakai agenda_." Eli's eyes were narrowed.

"I wasn't suggesting that he did," Young said evenly. "I just wish he'd _talk_ to me sometimes. Is that _all right_ with you?"

"Yeah," Eli said, his voice suddenly smooth with a forced nonchalance as he pushed back from the table abruptly. "Yeah, of course," he shrugged, but his eyes skittered away, out into the room.

Young looked at him steadily, then got to his feet.

"Let's take a walk," he said to Eli.

"Kinda busy right now," Eli said, still not looking at him.

"Eli," Young said quietly.

"Okay," Eli said finally. He shut his laptop and tucked it under one arm. "See you later," he murmured to Brody as they left.

For a moment they walked in silence, and Eli fidgeted with his pen, clicking it a few times. Every so often he reached up to rub his eyes, which were nearly back to normal, though still a faint red.

"Do they still hurt?" Young asked him.

"The eyes?" Eli paused. "No, not really. They're itchy mainly. It feels like I have something in them pretty much constantly, which is super annoying. I think they're on the mend though. It's about time, after five days." He paused again. "How's all your—stuff? Injuries and whatnot?"

"My back is pretty much fine," Young said. "The arms still hurt like hell though."

"Yeah, seriously. That was disgusting."

"Um," Young said, amused. "Thanks."

"Just, you know. Telling it like it is. Or was. Whatever."

Young turned onto the observation deck, which was, to his relief, empty. He shut the door behind them.

"Oh crap," Eli said, giving him a smile that was probably intended to come out as dry, but instead, just looked raw. "Observation deck? That's like—the conversational big guns. That's like a 'sit down, Luke, the girl you've been crushing on is actually your twin sister' type of conversational venue."

Young raised his eyebrows.

"Oh please," Eli said. "Don't give me that. I distinctly heard you make a Star Trek reference to Wray last year, so you can just stop pretending you're not a closet nerd."

Young snorted. "Sit down, Luke."

Eli flashed him a quick, nervous smile, but sat, holding his computer to his chest reflexively for a moment before he seemed to realize what he was doing and slowly lowered it to the floor.

Young sat beside him.

For a moment they looked out at the blur of stars at FTL.

"So," Eli said, unable to stand the quiet for more than fifteen seconds. "Am I getting The Talk?"

"_The_ talk?" Young asked. "Nah. I save things like that for Rush. He gets _The_ Talk about once a week these days. You're just getting _a_ talk. I've been giving them out like candy lately."

Eli smiled briefly and Young watched as his shoulders started to lose some of their tension.

"So," Young said quietly, "you're doing a fantastic job. In pretty much every arena."

He left it at that and looked away from Eli, out at the blurring stars.

After a moment, Eli spoke.

"Um, that's _it_? That's the talk? No stop-snapping-at-people-like-you-have-PTSD-to-the- max conversation? No help-the-lazy-gamer-cope-with-torture speech? No describe-what-it-was-like-to-have-something-tear-t hrough-your-mind demi counseling session?"

Young shrugged. "One," he said counting off on his fingers. "Snap away. Two, you're not a lazy gamer, you're an experienced intergalactic explorer who would be an asset to any SG team. Three, you don't need to describe it unless you want to, though I hear it can be helpful."

He looked back out at the stars.

"Experienced intergalactic explorer, eh?" Eli said. "I like the sound of that."

Young smiled faintly.

They sat in silence for a few moments.

Then he spoke again.

"Eli," he said. "There are some things in life that get easier as you go along. That benefit from experience. Some things that—after you survive them, make you a stronger person. They make you who you are."

Eli said nothing.

"And then there are the other kinds of things. The kinds of things that get harder as you go. The things that break you down, instead of making you stronger. The things that erode who you are. The mistakes that you make that you can't undo. That follow you. That never let you go. The things that—that will never be done. That will never be finished."

"Yeah," Eli said. "I know about those things. Maybe better than you think."

"Actually," Young replied. "I have no doubt that you understand them very well."

"They just—poison the rest of it," Eli said quietly.

"Yeah," Young replied. "Anything in particular on your mind?"

"A few things," Eli said thickly. "Ginn, for one. She was—she was really—" He exhaled, one long shuddering breath.

"Yeah," Young said quietly. "She seemed smart. Smart, and decisive and brave."

"And um—" Eli said, his voice wavering. "She liked me. She like—_liked _me, liked me. Do you know how _rare_ that is?"

"I can't imagine it's _that_ rare," Young said, feeling his mouth twist as he suppressed a smile.

"Oh trust me," Eli said, looking away, his eyes glittering. "It's rare."

"You're what? Like _twenty_?" Young said dubiously.

"Um, _twenty-five_. But that's not the point. She was—she was different. And she didn't deserve what happened to her. She didn't deserve to be murdered and she didn't deserve to be locked away. Probably—probably forever."

Young nodded.

"She's not even dead," Eli whispered. "Somehow, that makes it worse. Do I mourn her and move on? That seems like giving up. That _would _be giving up. But at the same time, how the _hell_ are we supposed to find her another _body_? It seems impossible."

"Yeah," Young said quietly.

"So instead she just haunts me all my life? Not alive, not dead, just waiting. _Waiting_ for me. For always. Knowing that, knowing _that_—how could I _ever_ be with _anyone_ else?"

"I don't know," Young whispered.

"And then there's the other stuff," Eli said. "You know."

Oh, Young knew.

"The guilt is the worst part," Eli murmured.

"Eli," Young said firmly. "You have nothing to feel guilty about. _Nothing_. You got that?"

"Easy to say," Eli whispered. "Easy to rationalize, on a good day, when nothing is trying to kill us, when no one is dying. But, um, _less_ easy to rationalize when you spend twenty minutes, twenty goddamn _minutes_ being tortured for information and it seems like a _lifetime_, like every second might be the one that finally kills you—and you remember that they had him for a week. For over a _week_, oh _fuck_—" Eli broke off, his throat closing off, his eyes squeezing shut, his hands curling around the edge of the bench on the observation deck in a white-knuckled grip.

"Yup," Young said shortly, shutting his own eyes. "I know, Eli. But—that wasn't your fault, okay? That was my fault. _Entirely_ my fault." After a moment, he reached over, one hand gently closing around Eli's shoulder.

"It was all of our faults," Eli said. "You. Rush. Me."

"It was between _me and Rush_, Eli," Young said insistently. "You had nothing to do with it. _Nothing_."

"Like it or not," Eli murmured, "I was a part of it, if only because I knew _everything_. He was trying to undermine your authority in a horrible, callous way," Eli whispered. "But I kept it quiet." He paused, taking a deep breath. "And then, I _let_ you leave him there. I was the only one, the _only_ one, who could have prevented it. And I did _nothing_. I said nothing."

Young looked down.

"Because I thought he deserved it," Eli said. "For doing that to you. And I thought it would be _better_. One of those tough command decisions that people are always talking about." He smiled unhappily. "Well, I was fucking wrong about that one, wasn't I?"

Young said nothing.

"Because, as it turns out, no matter what they do, no one really deserves to be left for dead—to die of dehydration or exposure or _whatever_. No one deserves to be _tortured_. No one deserves to be surgically implanted with a fucking transmitter. And then—what happened after. Chloe. The endless _attacks_."

Young said nothing.

"And you know what the worst part is? The part I really _can't stand_ is how he seems to not think of it as a big deal. Have you _noticed _this? It drives me _insane_. I let you leave him, and not only that, I _found_ the evidence that he'd erased and I _gave _it to you and I told _no one—_and he _doesn't_ _care_. He treats me the same as ever. Not only that, but I'm pretty sure, I'm _certain_ actually, that he cares about us. After all of that. He gives a damn. In his way. Oh fuck. Not even in 'his way'—in the normal human way."

They looked out at the stars.

"Eli," Young said quietly, "he treats you the same because he doesn't blame you. Not at all. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if he liked you _more_ for the role you played, which was _only_ to find evidence of wrongdoing and turn it over to your commanding officer. Furthermore, I never told you explicitly ahead of time what I was going to do, and then afterwards—you couldn't have done anything about it anyway. This is between Rush and myself, and we've worked past it. Mostly. True, the consequences keep showing up to bite us in the ass, but that's the nature of consequence. It's inescapable."

Eli looked over at him, expression tight, eyes red. "It's a pretty good act," he whispered. "But I can't even _imagine_ how difficult this is for you. You care about him. I _know_ you do. Everyone knows."

"Yeah, he's sort of an acquired taste," Young said, with some difficulty, managing to diffuse the tension, gently deflecting Eli's observation.

"Is he getting better?" Eli asked, mercifully changing the subject.

Young shrugged. "His English is improving, it's mostly back to normal. He still has a fever. He still feels like shit. His mind is a wreck, but he's fixing it."

"What do you mean his _mind_ is a _wreck_?"

"I don't know how to describe it—it's just disorganized, more so than usual, and he's having just, really horrific full-on Technicolor flashbacks."

"Join the club," Eli said wryly.

"Yeah," Young murmured. "Unfortunately, he has more than just his own memories to flash back to."

"Oh. Great. That must be fun."

"Yup," Young said dryly.

They were quiet for a few seconds, then Young spoke again. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you," he said, watching the flickering light play off Eli's face. "Did you ever come across anything in the database about the person who sits in the chair combining with the AI?"

"You mean like, how he sometimes links up with the ship to do stuff?" Eli asked, narrowing his eyes, clearly uncertain.

"No. The AI itself. Two personalities merging into one."

"No," Eli said, drawing out the word. "I don't understand how that would even be possible." He paused. "I suppose it is true that in a lot of ways, the existence of a person who can sit in the neural interface chair and run the ship ends up having a lot of _overlap_ with the role of the AI. The AI kept Destiny going while we weren't here, and it could take over again, to some degree, if something happened to Rush—but its role is not well defined in the context of having someone like Rush on board. But that overlap is more like—in terms of job description. Not _cognitive _overlap."

"Interesting," Young said.

"They probably intended the AI to run in the background, keep doing some of the day-to-day stuff, and then take over if necessary. That's my best guess. I haven't seen it around much for the past month or so."

"It appears to you?" Young asked, surprised.

"What? Oh—no. Not as a person or anything, just in the systems of the ship. By this point it's surrendered almost everything over to us."

"Not everything," Young said, looking back out at the stars.

"So I'm getting the feeling that you're asking me about this for a reason."

"The AI and I have been clashing lately. Over Rush."

"The AI is probably not something you want to 'clash' with," Eli said, making scare quotes, looking at him in concern. "It's got a lot of latitude in terms of what it can do, and—"

"I know," Young said, holding up a hand. "Believe me, I know. But ever since we put Rush in the chair two days ago, I haven't seen it. It should be out and about by now and I just find its absence generally—concerning."

"Hmm," Eli said. "Well, from my end, I would say it _should_ be out and about again. It's reintegrated fully with the ship. What does Rush have to say about it?"

"He hasn't said anything to me about it, and I haven't asked him."

"Didn't he freak out last time it went missing?"

"Yeah—though I don't know that he so much personally freaked out as Destiny and or the AI itself managed to dump a shit ton of dopamine or whatever into his brain to make him really _want_ to sit in the chair."

"Um, _why_?"

"It was trying to do some in-depth counseling, I think."

"Counseling."

"Yeah."

"Like, _psychological_ counseling?"

"Yeah. It was pretty invasive and weird and kind of traumatizing."

"Right. You got snapped in on that one."

"Yeah, I think it wanted both of us."

"I'm just—really glad that I'm not you guys. Either of you. God. So—what was it trying to _achieve_?"

"It was trying to convince him that his wife forgave him for the fact that he wasn't there for her when she died."

Eli leaned forward, elbows on knees, dropping his face into his hands. "That is messed up. _Messed up_."

"Somehow it was both extremely realistic and extremely transparent. Sophisticated and naïve."

"Kind of like the AI itself, it sounds like," Eli murmured.

"Yeah. He saw through it right away."

"He would," Eli said dryly. "So hence the drinking that night?"

"Hence the drinking."

They were quiet for a moment.

Eli sighed. "I'll look into this combining thing. As far as why you haven't seen the AI around—I can't say for sure."

"But you have a theory?" Young prompted.

"Just a hunch. Not a theory."

"Let's have it then."

"Well, maybe it's letting us put him back together. Without interference."

"Maybe," Young said quietly.

They were silent for half a minute before Eli fidgeted and spoke again. "In the meantime, though, I have a campaign contribution for you." He reached down to grab his laptop and ejected the disc that was inside.

"What's this '_campaign'_ I keep hearing about?" Young asked him.

"Well," Eli said, "there are two campaigns, actually. This little item is courtesy of my Colonel-Young-is-an-idiot-and-requested-nothing-fr om-Earth campaign." He passed Young the disc.

"What?" Young asked.

"Not to be confused with the almost as popular increase-the-cultural-literacy-of-Nicholas-Rush campaign."

"_What_?"

Eli smiled. "So it _is_ true. Neither of you _ever_ set foot in the rec room. I always suspected, but—"

"We have a rec room?"

"Um, yeah, it's basically an empty room with a deck of cards in it, but people hang out there. Now that we have some ping-pong balls, things have finally gotten interesting. You know who's surprisingly good at ping-pong? Volker. Weird, right? But you can kinda see it. _Anyway_, there was a sign-up sheet for people to donate some of their five-pounds of personal items to either one of you."

Young stared at him, entirely unsure of what to say. He looked down at the disc he was holding. It was a burned DVD, labeled in Eli's scrawling hand.

"Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid? I love this movie." He smiled faintly.

"Well," Eli said, smiling in return, "you're not the only one. After what, two and a half _years_ of trying to engage Rush in conversation about basically every form of media invented by humanity, this was the single piece of information that he ever gave up to me, and only after I asked him about something he _quoted_."

"The time loop device," Young said, remembering with a quick smile.

"Yeah," Eli said. "It was really only when _you_ called him Cassidy that I realized he'd _quoted_ something. As you're not typically one for fun nicknames. Anyway, I heard TJ's letting him out of the infirmary today because he's driving her crazy, so you're going to need something to convince him to stay lying down."

"True," Young said faintly.

"So go. Have your date night."

"Eli. We do not have _date_ _nights_."

Eli looked at his watch. "Dinner and a movie? Sounds like a date to me."

* * *

><p>When Young opened the door to his quarters, he was fully expecting to find Rush, based on his instinctive sense of the other man's location.<p>

What he was _not_ expecting, however, was to find TJ _and_ Varro _both_ in his quarters as well.

They were sitting together in front of the couch where Rush was lying.

Apparently—

Watching a movie?

"Oh hey, colonel," TJ said, from where she was seated on the floor next to the couch. "Popcorn?" She held the bowl out toward him.

/What the _hell_?/

/How uncomfortable _you_ feel about this is matched only by how uncomfortable _I_ feel about this,/ Rush projected with some difficulty, his thoughts wavering painfully as his eyes flicked up toward Young.

"Um sure, thanks, TJ," he said, walking forward slowly. "What are you guys doing?"

"Watching a movie," TJ said.

The popcorn was unbelievably delicious.

"I know, it's good, right?" TJ murmured, watching his face.

/This is _bizarre_. Why are TJ and Varro having a _date_ in _my_ quarters? With _you_./

/I think this is less a 'date' and more a function of Tamara's preference for continuous oversight because she didn't trust me not to leave _immediately_, which I would have done, by the way./

/But then—why is _Varro_ here?/

"What movie are you watching?" Young asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

/Probably because he doesn't want to leave her alone with me,/ Rush replied, the strength of his projection waning a bit.

"Inception," TJ said.

"I've never heard of it," Young replied. "Is that even really a word?"

/Why? What does he think _you're_ going to do to _TJ_?/ Young projected, his eyes flicking back to Rush.

/I don't know. You must admit that I did relentlessly hunt down and then cold-bloodedly kill one of his people. Plus—/ Rush broke off, flipping instinctively to regular speech as the effort of projecting became too much. "Plus, You can't really blame him. I seem somewhat—" he broke off waving a hand vaguely, searching for the appropriate word, and then just going with, "insane."

Everyone stared at him.

"Well, yeah, _now _you do," Young replied acidly.

Varro looked up at Young, clearly extremely uncomfortable. "Are you and he—"

"Yeah," Young said, not waiting for the other man to finish his question. "It's a long story. But he's _mostly_ not crazy, and he's not going to murder TJ, if that's what you're thinking."

"Thanks for the ringing endorsement there," Rush snapped, his accent starting to resurface along with his irritation.

"Um, great," Varro said, looking not at all reassured.

Everyone was silent for a moment, looking at each other.

On the laptop screen, the movie continued to play.

"So Inception is a _new_ movie," TJ said into the awkward silence. "That's why you haven't heard of it."

"It's fucking terrible," Rush added.

"What are you talking about?" Varro said. "This is _amazing_. I've never seen anything like it."

"That's because you've never seen a fucking film in your life. I fucking _despise _it," Rush snapped, and for some reason his thoughts were starting to spiral into something distressed and panicky.

Young wasn't sure exactly what it was that was setting him off.

TJ reached forward and shut the laptop, her expression freezing in distress.

/Hey,/ Young projected as much calm as he could in Rush's direction. /It's just a stupid movie./

"Yes," Rush said, bringing both hands to his face and then forcing himself abruptly into a seated position. "Scio. Vultus, discedant volo ego solus."

"That wasn't English," Young snapped.

"You're not fucking English."

"Um, as insults go, I've heard you do better," Young said, watching in surprise as Rush managed to launch himself into a standing position.

He swayed unsteadily, and TJ shot to her feet as Young stepped in to grab his elbow, steadying him.

Immediately, Rush pulled away.

"Don't touch me," Rush hissed. "Don't fucking _touch_ me."

"Fine," Young said mildly, putting a hand out to stop TJ from reaching forward.

He could feel Rush making a huge effort to rein in his rising panic.

They watched Rush as he backed away unsteadily, then turned to duck into the bathroom.

Young was fairly certain that he'd locked the door behind him.

"Okay," TJ said into the silence, drawing out the word. "No Inception. Got it."

"Not your fault, TJ," Young said.

"You going to be able to talk him down?" TJ asked quietly, bending gracefully to pick up her laptop.

Young and Varro watched her for a moment, and then as if by some sixth sense, their eyes snapped to each other, narrowing slightly.

"Yeah," Young said, breaking his gaze away from Varro to look back at TJ, "But—" he looked at his watch. Maybe not before dinner ends. Can you send someone by with—"

"Already taken care of," TJ said, indicating a bag at the foot of the coffee table with her eyes.

"Thanks," Young said quietly.

"Make sure he eats," TJ murmured, her expression unhappy. "His meds are in there too. And um," she lowered her voice, glancing at the bathroom. "His laptop is at the bottom of the bag. I took it away from him this morning, but I didn't have the heart to keep it."

Young rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I know how you feel."

He watched them walk away, TJ angling her head toward Varro as he bent to say something to her. She smiled, and Young turned away, letting the door close.

He rested his forehead against the cool metal for a moment, resisting the urge to sigh.

In the back of his mind, Rush's headache dug into him tenaciously.

He turned and shucked off his jacket, draping it over the back of the couch. He set his radio down on the table and pulled his boots off, keeping in faint contact with Rush's thoughts.

He gave the other man fifteen minutes on principle, then knocked on the bathroom door.

No answer.

He turned around, leaning back against the door. After a moment, he bent his knees, sliding down to the floor, where he sat, looking out into the room.

/You know,/ Young projected conversationally through the door, /mostly it's _teenage girls_ that lock themselves in bathrooms, or so I hear./

/You're misinformed. It's the general privilege of the mentally unsound./

/You're not mentally unsound,/ Young replied, trying to conceal any uncertainty in his own thoughts.

/That's nice of you to say,/ Rush projected back, his thoughts fading out with the effort of focusing and directing his consciousness. /It's difficult to control something as complicated as a human mind from the top down./

/I'll bet it is,/ Young projected back at him. /And speaking of which, want to open the door? You're exhausting yourself with all of this projecting./

/Infinitus est vis mea./

/English, please./

/My energy is limitless./

/Are you quoting? You're getting awfully abstract there, genius. Plus, you'll forgive me if I'm somewhat skeptical of that statement, seeing as you're currently splayed out on my bathmat./

Rush sent him a wave of misery.

/Come on. What do you say about opening the door?/

/Fine./

The door abruptly slid open directly behind him, and Young fell back into the bathroom.

"God, _Rush_. A little warning would have been nice."

"You said 'let me in,' and I said 'fine.' What more warning do you _want_?"

Young twisted around to look at him. Rush was curled on the floor, his hands partially tucked into the sleeves of his jacket, his feet bare except for the bandage that still covered the left one. At some point during the day TJ had apparently let him up to shower and shave. His eyes were shut.

"You're a lot of work," he said.

"I know," Rush sighed.

Young sat up, leaning against the wall, and looked down at him.

"Let's go get drunk," Rush murmured without looking at him.

"Yeah, okay," Young said. "That sounds like a fantastic idea. I'll find you some shoes. Let's just go get you completely _trashed_, hmm?" He reached out and tugged gently on a piece of Rush's hair.

"No need to be so sarcastic about it," Rush murmured, smiling faintly.

"You _already_ can't walk in a straight line."

"I'm sure I could,"

"I doubt it, genius."

Young reached out, running his fingers over Rush's shoulders.

"Stop being so nice to me," Rush said, sounding defeated.

Young snorted. "Yeah. You definitely don't deserve it. I think you almost made TJ cry, you bastard."

Silence.

"Are you serious?"

"No," Young said quietly. "She's tough. So what the hell is wrong with Inception?"

"Nothing."

"Yeah. I can see how that would make you flip out and lock yourself in the bathroom."

"It's just too much like my life."

"Now I _definitely_ have to see this movie," Young said mildly. "Come on. Your life is like A Beautiful Mind meets, I don't know, fucking Independence Day."

"I haven't seen _either_ of those, and also, I'm fairly sure that you're insulting me."

"I thought you didn't want me to be so nice."

"Yes well," Rush murmured, vaguely waving a hand before dropping it back down to the deck plating.

"Let's get off this floor," Young murmured. "What do you say?"

"No. Nisi nos bibere, ego hic maneas."

"Now you're just being lazy. Speak _English_." With that, Young dragged Rush up into a sitting position.

"Are you sure we can't go drinking?" Rush murmured with his eyes still shut.

"Yes. I'm very sure. We can, however, eat dinner."

He pressed the back of his hand against Rush's forehead, feeling the heat that still emanated from his skin.

"Still there," Rush murmured. "These antivirals don't do shit."

"TJ said they might take a while put a dent in your viral load."

"Viral load." His tone was disdainful. "Biologists put on a good show, but it's all fucking guesswork. Have you realized this?" Rush murmured.

"Um, I'm pretty sure _they_ don't feel that way about it."

"That's very fucking _diplomatic_ of you, _colonel_," Rush said dryly, his normal accent again edging back in as he shot to his feet with a sudden expenditure of energy. He overbalanced immediately, but caught himself on the edge of the sink.

Young looked up at him from where he was still seated on the floor.

"I can't believe you're trying to pick a fight with me about—I don't even know what you'd call that. Biology as a discipline?" Young stood, smiling faintly at him. "I just want to eat dinner."

Rush looked over at him, hands still braced against the sink. His hair was falling into his eyes, and he shook it back, looking over at Young. "I'm not picking a fight with you," he said tiredly. "If I were, you'd know."

"Would I? You're so damn mercurial, it's hard to tell sometimes."

"Yes well. _You're_ terribly fucking _reliable_," Rush shot back.

"Was that supposed to be an insult?"

"Oh absolutely," Rush said, looking down, looking away, hiding his twisted smile.

"Come on, genius," Young said, pulling him away from the sink, dragging Rush's arm across his shoulders.

"I can _walk_," Rush said, trying to pull away.

"Yeah, you sure as shit can," Young replied mildly, as he pulled right back. "And then you're going to tear open your foot again for what? For the hell of it? Don't you feel crappy enough for something like _five _people already? Just try to take your goddamn weight off it, will you?"

"It doesn't _matter_," Rush said. "I'm just going to tear it open again eventually, possibly even on purpose."

"That's the spirit."

Young dragged Rush over to the bed and then retrieved the dinner that TJ had left for them.

"Oh my god," Young said, as he opened the bag. "This looks like actual food." He pulled out two MREs—mac and cheese and spaghetti with meat sauce, as well as potato chips and cookies that incredibly, looked homemade. There was a note with the cookies that read:

_For the Col. Young is an idiot campaign. PERISHABLE. James_.

Wordlessly, he passed the note over to Rush.

Rush glanced at it briefly, then passed it back to Young.

"Interesting," he said, leaning back on one arm, letting his eyes fall shut.

"Interesting?" Young repeated. "_That's_ your response?"

"I find it interesting that I can't read English," Rush said mildly.

Young stared at him.

"You're serious," he said finally.

"Yes," Rush murmured with a kind of resigned exhaustion. "Yes I am, actually."

"God _damn _it, Rush," Young snapped, hearing his voice rise.

Rush opened his eyes abruptly, giving Young a somewhat startled look. "I'll get it back. Most likely."

"Most _likely_? Shouldn't you have it back _already_?"

Rush shrugged again. "If I spent five minutes staring at that note I could probably figure out what it says. But why don't you just tell me?" His tone was soothing, as if _he_ were trying to calm _Young_ down.

Which was, of course, utterly ridiculous.

Young shoved it back at him. "Do it."

Rush's expression flashed briefly into surprised disdain before settling on incredulous. "_No_."

"You're doing it right now."

"Why?"

"Because I want to know you _can_."

Rush's thoughts, which had been a disorganized swirl briefly crystalized into something hard and determined before shattering apart. The scientist's eyes narrowed.

"I'm not doing it."

"Yes you _are_."

"Un-_fucking_-likely." Again, Young noticed that his original accent had crept back in.

They paused for a moment, looking at each other.

The room was silent other than the low, almost imperceptible hum of the FTL drive.

Young could tell that the scientist was making a concerted effort to stay calm.

"You're afraid," Young snapped, unable to keep the accusation out of his tone. "You're afraid you won't be able to do it."

Silence.

Rush focused on him for a long moment, his thoughts and his breathing beginning to steady—as if something about Young's appearance, or words, or mind had granted the scientist some insight.

"Close," Rush said finally, giving Young a faint smile, his accent stronger than ever, "but you haven't _quite_ got it. Not quite."

"_What_ then?" Young said quietly.

"I'll do it later with an actual _book_, not some colloquialism-laden, hand-written _scrap_, all right? Let's just eat dinner." With that, Rush reached forward in what was clearly an attempt to diffuse the situation and grabbed the container of cookies, examining it with narrowed eyes. "So who are these from, then?"

"James," Young said, giving in to the change of subject reluctantly.

"Interesting. Have you noticed that people have been _giving_ you things recently?" Rush asked, sounding puzzled and annoyed, as he made an effort to deflect and hold Young's attention. He shoved the cookies back in Young's direction without eating one.

"What kind of things have you gotten?" Young asked mildly, trying to let go of his frustration.

"Eli gave me an entire digital array of films, most of which I've never heard of, arranged in the order that he wants me to _watch_ them. I find this to be extremely optimistic on his part."

"Anything else?"

"_Yes_ actually, mostly media files of different kinds, though Tamara got me a _shirt_ of dubious aesthetic value."

"Yeah, I think those are all campaign contributions," Young said, smiling slightly in spite of himself.

"Campaign?" Rush repeated.

"Yeah. Before everyone submitted their requests for personal items from Earth, Eli apparently started a campaign to increase your cultural literacy."

Rush stared at him. "You're joking."

"Nope. In fact, I'm pretty sure he named it the Increase-the-cultural-literacy-of-Nicholas-Rush campaign."

Rush continued to stare at him.

"He likes you," Young said, raising his eyebrows.

"I know," Rush said, his eyes closing briefly. "I can't imagine that there's not some Colonel Young equivalent of—" he broke off, waving a hand.

"Yeah," Young sighed. "It's called the Colonel-Young-is-an-idiot-and-requested-nothing-fr om-Earth campaign."

Rush smirked, looking away as his expression broke into a real smile for a moment.

"The Colonel Young is an idiot campaign," Rush repeated, with evident satisfaction. He raised his eyebrows, looking over at Young. "Aptly named, I must say, but why—" he gestured vaguely at the cookies, like he was looking for the correct word. After a brief interval he seemed to abort, and rephrased his question as, "Why didn't you request anything?"

Young shrugged. "Didn't feel like I needed to. I told Camile to use my five pounds for any special requests that might come up."

"How noble of you," Rush said dryly.

"Oh right. And what did you request? Something extremely normal, I'm sure."

"You know what I requested. A textbook for Chloe. And Eli."

"That couldn't have been a personal request. It was twelve pounds and completely unnecessary. You were allowed five pounds of personal items."

"Yes. True."

"So how did you get it through?"

"I'll tell you later."

"The more you evade my question, the more curious it makes me."

"Ask Wray," Rush said airily.

"That's not really a personal item, anyway," Young said.

"Do you know how much my life will _personally_ improve if Eli learns quantum mechanics?" Rush raised his eyebrows at Young. "A great deal."

"Yeah. I'm sure."

Rush smiled wryly.

"What do you want?" Young asked. "Mac and cheese or spaghetti with meat sauce?"

"Pass," Rush said.

"I'd give you the mac and cheese out of spite," Young said, "but I'm sure you wouldn't eat it. So here."

Young tossed the package of spaghetti into Rush's lap.

The scientist looked at it listlessly, leaning back on one arm, as if he could distance himself from his dinner.

Young brushed against his thoughts and was rewarded with an intensification of his headache and also a vague feeling of nausea before withdrawing.

"Rush," Young said. "You're eating that entire thing."

"Oh I know," Rush murmured.

"At least it's not paste," Young said, tearing his MRE open.

"The paste doesn't lie about what it is," Rush replied, tipping his head back slightly and closing his eyes.

Young snorted. "Then you have more in common with the MRE."

"Very clever, but I don't look for common ground between myself and my food, thank you."

Young shook his head. "Step one is opening it."

"Are you going to be providing this sort of instructional commentary the entire time?"

"Only if it seems like you need it."

He looked over at Rush to see the scientist had his head turned away. His eyes were shut. Young was hit with an echo of intense nausea.

Shit.

"Hey, are you—"

"I don't think I can eat right now," Rush said faintly, looking like he was about to be sick or pass out. "Maybe later."

This was about to turn into a disaster unless he did something _immediately_.

"Okay," Young said quickly. "Okay. Lets get rid of all this stuff." He wasted no time dumping everything back into the bag and putting it out of sight on the floor.

"_You_ should eat," Rush murmured. "You've been on shift all day."

"I'm pretty sure that would not end well for either of us," Young murmured, feeling more than a bit sick himself. "You want some water?"

"No," Rush said shortly, his eyes still shut.

"How long have you—"

"Please don't talk to me right now," Rush said, through clenched teeth. "Just, go do something else."

"Yeah, sure," Young said. He stood, making his way over to the bathroom where he filled a cup from the canteen that contained his daily water ration. After considering for a moment, he soaked his washcloth with what remained of the water in his canteen, and shook it out, letting the air cool it.

When he walked back into the room, he saw Rush curled miserably on the bed, a very similar position to the one he'd adopted on the bathroom floor. Young came over and perched next to him.

"Scoot over," he murmured.

"I knew it was too good to be true," Rush whispered.

"What?" Young said.

"You leaving. Can you get out of here? There's approximately an eighty-five percent probability that—"

"Nope," Young murmured, setting down the water on the table next to the bed. "Not going to happen." He pressed the washcloth to the back of Rush's neck. "You're fine."

"Think of ice," Rush murmured, his eyes shut.

"What?" Young asked.

"That's what I used to tell Gloria," he said absently. "To think of ice."

Young shut his eyes.

_White tile and white paint and white porcelain and her hair spread out across the floor as she lies there. He runs his fingers through it carefully, but already it begins to come away under his hand. "Enjoy it while it lasts," she says, a wry amusement in her tone, there only to try and hide the fact that she's been crying, but he knows. Of _course_ he knows. _

"Glaciers," Young murmured, not snapping him out of the memory, just picking out an aspect of it and—

"_Don't think about it," he murmurs, forcing his voice to stay steady. "Just think about something neutral. Like four." She tips her head back toward him. "Four?" she repeats. "As in, the number?" He cocks his head at her. "Name something more neutral than the concept of four." She shuts her eyes briefly against the tears that are threatening, but it just makes them spill over. "You're an odd man," she says, but she's smiling. _

"Fields of glaciers. As far as you can see. Cold and clear and clean," Young said quietly.

"_How about ice?" he asks, as she curls her hands shut, riding out another wave of nausea, muscles contracting against the floor. She's long since gotten rid of anything that was in her stomach. "Ice is good," she murmurs, when she can speak again. _

Young readjusted the washcloth, shaking it off, cooling it down again and pulling the collar of Rush's jacket back and pressing the cloth against his fevered skin. "Snow," he murmured.

"_Oxygen," he says, going back to stroking her hair, "oxygen and hydrogen, crystalizing as they give up their kinetic energy in the cold." She smiles again. "You incurable romantic," she whispers. He can't—he can't quite look at her._

"Frozen lakes," Young said quietly. "Frozen rivers. Frozen waterfalls." He was projecting now, images from his _own _past—interleaving them with Rush's memory. "Have you ever seen a frozen waterfall?"

"No," Rush whispered.

"It's bizarre. It doesn't look real. All the motion of a waterfall locked into ice. Very cold. Very hard. Very quiet."

He linked up a bit more fully with Rush, letting his mind flash to the vast snow-covered space of the American west, under the open sky, unconfined, _unconfining,_ white, and gray, and cold.

_His boots, cracking through the frozen crust on the snow, the slide of a skate over ice, the feel of tiny frozen shards hitting his face in a frigid wind, the frozen branches of trees and the crack and the fall as wood splits under the weight of the snow—_

Rush was beginning to feel better.

"These are your memories," the scientist murmured, as if he weren't entirely sure.

"Yeah," Young said, still thinking of snow, of long, frozen grasses and the rough, dark ice of the North Platte River.

"You have so much control," Rush whispered.

Young wasn't sure what to say to that, so he didn't say anything. He simply continued to hold the washcloth against the back of Rush's neck.

After another five minutes Young realized that Rush was half asleep.

"Oh no you don't," Young said, rubbing his arm gently. "Come on, stay awake. Otherwise you're going to wake up at twenty-three hundred hours and not sleep all night. Plus, TJ was pretty explicit about me getting dinner into you somehow."

No response.

"Rush," Young said, grabbing the scientist's upper arm and shaking him slightly.

Rush jerked back to alertness with a surge of panic, nearly cracking their heads together as he jolted into a half-seated position.

"Easy," Young said, letting him go immediately. "Easy."

"Sorry," Rush murmured, looking slightly disoriented.

"Feel any better?" Young asked.

"Somewhat," Rush murmured.

"Come on," Young said. "Sit up."

"I _cannot_ eat right now, I—"

"Oh will you give it a rest?" Young said, propping his pillows against the wall behind the head of the bed. "You're always so negative about _everything_."

Rush glared at him, slowly uncurling and shifting backward to lean against the wall.

Young reached over on the other side of the bed and fished Rush's laptop out of the bottom of TJ's bag and placed it on the bed.

"You're giving me my _laptop_?" Rush asked.

"Kind of," Young murmured. "We're going to watch a movie."

Rush made an aggrieved sound in the back of his throat, and buried his face in his hands.

"Do you have any idea how many fucking 'movies' I've watched in the past two days?"

"Nope," Young said, surreptitiously dragging the entire bag onto the bed next to where he was planning to sit.

He checked the charge on Rush's laptop battery.

It was entirely full.

TJ must have charged it up for him.

"A lot," Rush snapped. "I watched _five_ _hours_ of Pride and Prejudice with Chloe, under the guise of improving my accent. I _then_ watched fucking Braveheart with Barnes. With _Barnes_. I don't even _know_ Barnes."

"Well at least the one's _Scottish_," Young said.

"_You're_ more fucking Scottish than that fucking film. And _then_, I watched some movie about corrupt law enforcement officials with Greer. I watched Hackers with Eli. I watched fucking _Lord of the Rings_ with Volker and Brody."

"That one I just cannot picture," Young said, smirking at him.

"No. Me neither. Thank god. I fell asleep about ten minutes in."

"So—that one doesn't count then," Young said.

"Yes, it _absolutely_ counts. Look. I don't like people and I don't like films. I've always been very upfront about _both _of these things."

Young snorted. "That's true." He opened Rush's laptop.

"What are you doing?" Rush demanded.

"What does it _look_ like I'm doing?" Young said.

"I don't like other people touching my laptop."

Young turned around to stare at him.

"I just feel—weird about it," Rush said finally.

"You feel _weird_ about people touching your _laptop_." Young repeated, fighting a smile.

"Yes."

"Well," he said, sliding the disc Eli had given him into the drive. "Fortunately for you, I'm not 'people'."

"I suppose not," Rush said grudgingly. "What the hell _is_ this anyway?"

"You're gonna like it," Young said, sliding in beside him on the bed.

"Unlikely," Rush murmured.

Courtesy of the distraction provided by the two-hour movie, Young managed to get Rush to eat about three quarters of an MRE plus two of James' cookies. In his opinion, this counted as a fabulous success. The fact that Rush fell asleep about fifteen minutes before the movie ended, his head slowly coming to rest on Young's shoulder, was also counted as a success in Young's book.

The ending of the movie, after all, was fairly grim.

* * *

><p>Young woke slowly in the middle of the night, disentangling himself from the shredded remains of a dream that had already fled away by the time his conscious mind was able to make a coordinated attempt hold onto it.<p>

He was exhausted, and his ever-present headache pressed out against his tired eyes.

Rush was awake.

The scientist was sitting up in the bed, his mobile phone in one hand, a book in the other. He was hunched forward, eyebrows pushed together, glasses on, his hair falling across his forehead. The light reflecting from the bright surface of the page illuminated his features.

"Fuck," he whispered, his voice barely audible, "et hoc est?"

Very carefully, Young reached out, bringing his thoughts and Rush's into closer proximity, until, in the dark, sitting next to Rush on the edge of the bed, he could see the unmistakable outline of Dr. Jackson.

"Est gerundium. A gerund. In modum 'swimming' or 'walking'," the AI said.

"Describitur hic finis?"

"Yes. 'i-n-g'."

"So," Rush murmured quietly, "the right understanding of any matter and a misunderstanding of the same matter do not wholly exclude each other."

It was slow and pained and barely understandable.

"Item. Quod dirum sonuit. Make it sound like _English_," it said, sounding amused.

"You're barely sentient," Rush snapped at it. "Non etiam viventes."

"You're a jerk," it said, definitely amused.

"Malo alio libro," Rush said.

"Certo scio," the AI said. "But speaking in Ancient isn't helping if you're determined to reacquire this skill. Which, I still maintain that you don't need."

"I'm not going to be fucking _illiterate_. Do you have any idea how much that would undermine my intellectual credibility?"

"We could be using this time for more _important_ things," it murmured.

"It's not going to take me very long," Rush murmured. "Just fucking read this so that I know what I'm looking at."

The AI sighed and looked over. "The right understanding of any matter and a misunderstanding of the same matter do not wholly exclude each other."

"You're fucking kidding me."

"No. Why did you not work on this _earlier_ with Colonel Young?"

"Because," Rush whispered, his eyes still fixed on the book.

"Because _why_?"

"Because there's only so much one person can take, all right? Just drop it."

"Are you speaking in regards to yourself or to the colonel?"

"Are you making a fucking processing error? What did I _just_ _say_?"

"Nick," the AI said, quiet, pained.

Almost immediately, Rush calmed down.

"Try it again," the AI whispered.

"The right understanding of any matter and a misunderstanding of the same matter do not wholly exclude each other."

"Better," the AI murmured. "Much better."

Young shut his eyes, letting sleep carry him back under.


	32. Chapter 32

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** Am I crazy? You decide. Apophis3, there's a scene in here for you involving Rush and Greer—hopefully you will like it! Thanks for all the feedback, everyone…I hope you like this chapter. If it's too adorable for you, feel free to discard the last half and proceed directly to chapter 33. After reading this chapter, please proceed to the oneshot "Stage Three." This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>Young stood in the doorway of the control interface room, his arms crossed over his chest, as if that could curb his rising irritation.<p>

He was watching Rush as the man tried to stay awake through the end of Volker's status update.

Technically the scientist was supposed to be on light duty, which translated to four hours per day of minimally intensive work. Today was day _one_ of his light-duty regimen, and Rush had put in eight.

Eight hours.

How exactly this had happened, Young was not sure.

Certainly in large part it was due to the fact that he himself had been trapped in Telford's tactical briefing regarding the recent Nakai attack and couldn't exactly leave in the middle of the thing to drag Rush out of the lab.

He should be used to this by now.

"Volker," Young growled from the back of the room, interrupting the astrophysicist's presentation, surprising everyone.

Eli dropped his pen.

"Oh hey, colonel," Volker said, "Um—"

"Guys," Young said, a quiet menace in his tone. "Four hours. _Four_. None of you could get him out of here? _None of you_? Where's Chloe?"

"For god's _sake_, I'm sitting _right here_," Rush snapped. He turned slowly to look at Young, clearly extremely irritated and extremely tired. "I gave Chloe the night off."

"Yeah, I'll just bet you did." Young sighed.

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means that you're off duty tomorrow."

"Ridiculous," Rush replied shortly. "We're sweeping the interior of the ship for subspace transponders which is, frankly, going to be—"

"_You're_ ridiculous. No one cleared any plan to go wandering around the ship looking for subspace transponders with _me_, and I want a full briefing before we attempt _anything_ of the kind."

"And by 'sweeping' I didn't mean wandering about _aimlessly_, did I? We have internal _sensors, _this isn't the _dark ages_,it's just a matter of modifying the bloody things to pick up foreign technological signatures that belong to the Nakai and don't come from our own _laptops_. I was under the impression that this was a _high_ _priority_. Or do you fancy getting into space battles every other week? Because we're about _due _for one if you hadn't noticed."

"Oh I'm well aware of that," Young growled. "But _you_ need to keep in mind that there's more riding on your physical and mental wellbeing than just—"

Young broke off, suddenly acutely aware that the science team was watching their argument.

"Keep going," Volker said mildly. "It was just starting to get good."

Rush's head snapped around. "You, _Volker_, are incredibly _lucky_ that—"

Whatever scathing remark that Rush was about to make was cut short by a shrill whistle from the doorway, immediately behind Young, which caused everyone to jump.

Young whirled to find himself face to face with Greer.

"Just came by to let you all know that _Scott just asked Chloe to marry him and she said yes_." Greer grinned at them.

"Oh my _god_! _Really_?" Park asked, her voice unusually high, her hands coming up to her throat.

"Nice," Volker commented, high-fiving Brody.

"How did I not _know_ about this!?" Eli asked, clearly affronted.

"Party tomorrow night. If—" Greer turned to Young. "If that's okay with you, sir. Wray already okayed it."

"Fine by me," Young said, smiling back at him.

"Gonna go keep spreading the word," Greer said, ducking back out of the doorframe.

"Greer," Rush snapped.

"Yeah Doc?" he asked, turning back.

"Did she like it?"

"Of course she liked it. It looks fucking awesome."

"Like _what_?" Park asked, sounding curious and excited.

"The ring," Rush replied nonchalantly.

"Wait. Wait wait _wait_," Eli said. "You. _You_ _knew_ about this. You were _in on it_?"

"I know about _everything_, Eli," Rush said, narrowing his eyes as he shut his laptop and got to his feet. "_Everything_."

He grabbed his crutch, picked up his laptop and walked straight past Young into the corridor.

"Um, briefing is over I guess," Young heard Volker say from behind him. "That's cool. It's not like the air recirculators are _important_ or anything."

"Just keep going," Eli said to Volker as Young left the room. "He doesn't need to deal with this kind of stuff anyway. Not really. We can handle it. Seriously though. Who knew about this? You guys! How could you _not tell me_—" Eli's voice faded out as Young started down the hallway.

He easily caught up with Rush, their boots echoing on the deck plating, the emergency lights at the base of the walls tracking them as they moved through the corridors.

"I don't appreciate that kind of thing," Rush said, his tone icy and dark.

"Well, _maybe_ if you would just do what you're _supposed_ to do then—"

"You need to learn to pick your battles a bit better," Rush hissed.

"That's _all_ _I do_ these days, Rush," Young hissed right back. "_All I do_ is pick my battles with you. I'm trying to keep you _alive_. God. Why do you have to be _so difficult_?"

"Save the sensationalism for someone who gives a fuck, will you?" Rush shook his hair back and glared at Young, picking up his pace slightly. "Sitting in the control interface room is hardly going to kill me, a fact of which you're well aware. So you'll excuse me if I don't exactly applaud your choice of where to plant your metaphorical flag."

"My _metaphorical flag_? And what _would_ meet with your approval? You want me to force you to tell me what the _fuck_ happened to your _mind_ during the most recent attack? Because it's a god-damned wasteland in there. You want to talk about Destiny's mission and have the AI fucking try to annex your brain? You want me to drag your fucking _master plan_ out of you? Because I'm sure you _have _one. Those are the battles I'm _not_ picking, all right? I'd fucking _love_ to pick them but I don't think you can handle that right now."

"You have absolutely _no_ _idea_ what I am capable of _handling_." His limp was becoming more pronounced.

"_I_ have a damn sight more of an idea than _you_ do, that's for sure."

Young realized that they were heading in the direction of _Rush's_ quarters.

"Is that so. And why don't you enlighten me as to why you think that's the case." Rush's thoughts were a bright, seething mass that pressed into Young's consciousness.

"You can see the damage to my mind? Well, here's news for you, genius, that little skill set goes both ways. I can see the damage to _yours_. And it's an absolute _wreck_."

"So you implied." Rush stopped in the middle of the hallway. "And I'm certain it appears that way to you, but even if you can see damage to my mind, which I _doubt,_ _you_ can't see into _Destiny_. And _therefore_—"

"There are times that I can see your _entire mind_," Young growled at him. "I'm sure of it. And it's a disorganized, barely functional _mess_. You are _this close _to fucking losing touch with reality completely and you don't even _know _it. Though I'm sure you're coming to suspect as much," Young growled.

"Fuck off," Rush snapped, turning away. "You know _nothing._"

"How do you think I 'fixed the link'? It wasn't our link that was _ever_ broken. It was _you_. All that pain. All that vertigo, that horrible sense of _tearing_. All of it came from _your_ fucked up mind. And I fixed it. _ I _fixed. _Your_ mind."

Young pressed the tips of his middle and index fingers into Rush's chest.

Rush smacked his hand aside and stepped back, his eyes narrowing.

"You're _lying_," the scientist hissed.

"I'm not. You _know_ I'm not. When you were taking energy from Destiny it boosted your ability to tolerate the separation, just like it boosted your tolerance to pain. To cold. Think about it," he said, seeing that what he was saying was finally getting through to the other man. "I fixed you."

Rush looked at him uncertainly.

"I _fixed_ you." Young murmured.

"When?"

"When do you _think_?"

Rush looked away, his mouth twisting in a brief, pained half smile. "Ah," he said quietly. "And then, in the infirmary—"

"Yeah," Young said quietly. "Though that was a bit different."

Rush shut his eyes.

"I wasn't going to tell you like this," Young whispered.

"Doesn't matter," Rush murmured.

"It does," Young said. "I didn't _know_ that—"

"Oh come off it. You knew. You fucking _knew_. In the infirmary."

"Yeah, okay, I knew then. But not the first time."

Rush looked away, and Young reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder. Beneath his hand, the scientist's muscles were rock-hard.

"Rush," he continued, "Come on. It's not like you haven't done the same thing. You've fixed my mind. I know you have."

"It's not the same though," Rush murmured. "Is it now?"

"Not exactly," Young agreed.

"You need to _stop _this. The more you entangle us," Rush whispered, "the worse it will be for you. For _you_. Can't you understand that? I've tried to explain it to you over and over again."

"I don't care," Young whispered. "I don't."

"A viewpoint that is horrifyingly short sighted."

"You want this too. I _know_ you do."

"You know _nothing_."

"I know a hell of a lot more than you think I do. You want this," Young said, stepping forward. "And you _need this_. We both do."

Rush's hand came up, centered squarely on Young's chest. He pushed him back.

"Don't even _think_ about it," Rush whispered.

"You don't want to do this because you think you're not going back." Young whispered. "And maybe you're right. Maybe you can't. But if that's the case, I'm not going back either."

"Yes, you _are_," Rush said, his eyes shut.

"You don't get to make that decision for me," Young said. "You don't get to decide my fate, and you don't get to unilaterally dismiss everything between us because you think it's a bad idea in the monomaniacal little world that you have going up here," Young said, running a thumb along Rush's temple.

"You think this will give you another hold over me," Rush murmured, jerking his head away from Young's hand.

"Damn straight," Young said. "I'll take everything I can get."

"But it won't be enough," Rush said. "It will never be enough."

"We'll see," Young replied, his left hand closing gently over the hand Rush had pressed to his chest.

"You're fucking relentless," Rush whispered.

"Damn straight," Young replied. "You need me if you're going to make it through this. You know I'm right."

Rush took a deep breath and then fixed Young with a penetrating look. "Appealing to my sense of ruthless practicality?"

"Yeah," Young murmured smiling faintly. "If it will get me anywhere."

"Why do you want this so much?" Rush asked, narrowing his eyes. "Has it even _occurred_ to you to question that?"

"You think the fact that we're _linked_ is having some kind of influence on me?

"No. I'm _certain_ it is. A year ago you had to force yourself to speak more than two sentences to me in a row, and _now_? You want to—to _what_? To help me? To fucking be my _friend_? To enter into some kind of poorly defined relationship that, given our history and personalities, will certainly end in a spectacular example of just how fucking wrong this kind of thing can go—"

"It's not the damned _link_, Rush. It's _you_."

"Are you even _capable_ of separating the two?"

"I'm capable of a damn sight more than _you_ give me credit for. I know you. I _know _you. And like it or not, the _nature_ of this entire situation means that I have been and _will continue_ to help you navigate all of this _shit_ that you have to deal with. So why not just let me do it to the best of my ability? The way I want to? The way I'm _meant _to, I think?"

"Meant to? You've vastly overstepped the bounds of your designated role."

"As have you, or so I hear."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm telling you, I know a lot of things that you don't. I know what happens when you join with the ship."

"What do you mean by that?" Rush's eyes narrowed.

"You have goals," Young murmured, "and Destiny has goals. But consider what happens to your goals when you merge. Really merge. You have _no idea_. Because you don't _form memories_ of that time. But I do."

"Fuck," Rush whispered quietly. "What—"

"Nope." Young cut him off. "You get _nothing_ from me until you start to work _with_ me rather than _around_ me. Because if you _won't_ work with me, if you're not going to let me help you, then I need every advantage I can get. Over the AI, over Telford, and over _you_. _Especially_ you."

"Extortion," Rush snapped at him.

"Sure, if you want to call it that, go ahead. I think 'cooperation' is more accurate," Young said mildly.

Rush looked away with a frustrated sigh.

"I'm wearing you down," Young murmured, smiling faintly at him.

"Possibly," Rush murmured. "I have to think about it."

"What's to think about?" Young replied, pushing him back against the wall, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck, one thumb grazing over his temple.

Rush stepped away from him sliding sideways against the wall and twisting out into the open corridor. "I'll keep my brain as it is for the moment," he said dryly. "Thank you."

Young held up both hands. "Look. I'm not going to do anything that you don't want."

"As if you could," Rush said disdainfully. "I'll see you later." He turned away and started down the corridor.

Young raised his eyebrows. "Where the hell are you _going_?" he asked.

"To bed." Rush snapped. "_Alone_. I'll see you _later_."

Young crossed his arms, leaning against the wall of the corridor, watching Rush go back to his own quarters—as straight-shouldered and dynamic and determined as he'd ever been. He never looked back.

How long had it been since they'd slept in separate rooms?

Young couldn't remember.

* * *

><p>Young slept terribly, his dreams jolting him awake at random intervals, always fading ahead of his conscious attempts to recall them. By the time his alarm finally went off at six hundred hours, he estimated that he'd gotten no more than four hours of sleep.<p>

Rush was already awake.

/Did you even _go_ to sleep?/ Young snarled at him, as he blearily made his way to the bathroom to dash some cold water on his face before shaving.

In return, he got a wave of disdain.

Yeah, that seemed about right.

Rush was in the mess, sitting with Wray, attempting to choke down a bowl of oatmeal.

/You're off duty. I was serious about that./

"Should you really be on duty?" Wray asked Rush skeptically, unconsciously mirroring Young's question.

/We're _sweeping the ship_,/ Rush projected.

Wray was staring at Rush.

/You realize you need to respond _verbally_ to Wray, right?/

"We're sweeping the ship," Rush said hastily. "For the Nakai tracking device. I need to be there. At least for the first hour or so while the sensor calibration is being performed."

Wray looked at him through narrowed eyes as she took a bite of oatmeal. "You look awful," she murmured. "Did you _sleep_ last night?"

"Do you know how often people _ask_ me that?"

"Not without good reason," Wray said dryly. "You're supposed to be on _light duty_."

/You should listen to her./

"And _you_," Rush murmured, "are supposed to be off entirely for the next two days. What are you doing up at this hour? Shouldn't you be having a lie in?"

"I couldn't sleep," Wray admitted finally.

"Yes," Rush said quietly. "That becomes—" he took a bite of oatmeal. "A problem."

Wray looked away.

Rush looked down at his bowl of oatmeal, hesitating on the edge of saying something further.

"It does improve with time," he said finally. "Eventually it won't seem so immediate. You'll be able to tell that they're just dreams."

"Good to know," she said evenly. "Do you know how they—" she broke off, looking away. "How they achieve the—" her throat closed and she put the spoon down.

/Don't be a jerk,/ Young growled in the back of his mind.

/Stop backseat counseling./

"Who was it?" he asked her quietly, taking another bite of his oatmeal.

"The um—the last time it was my significant other."

"Mmm," Rush said.

"I know, right?" Wray brushed her hair back out of her face. "That's the worst part. The illogic of it. She wasn't, or—she _isn't_ even on Destiny. But I gave up the information anyway. When I saw—when it was _her_ being tortured."

"One's sense of reality," Rush said carefully, "becomes distorted. The longer they go, the worse it becomes. You held out for a long time."

"Not long enough," she whispered.

"Long enough to prevent them from moving on to someone else," Rush said mildly. "That's worth something, I should think."

"Maybe," she said, giving him a wan smile. "Thanks."

He shrugged, and stood. "This significant other of yours," he said quietly.

"Sharon."

"Sharon." Rush repeated. "I'd imagine it might help to talk to her, if you can convince someone to let you use the stones. It might lend a sense of unreality to what you saw. Because it wasn't real. This. _This _is what's real."

She nodded. "Is that what you did?"

"No. But then, I rarely take advice. Not even my own."

Young pulled gently out of his mind as Rush left the mess. The scientist's thoughts were already turning toward sensor modifications, detection thresholds, and the balance of sensitivity vs. specificity—not in words, but in images of monitors, the rhythm and the _feel_ of the electromagnetic spectrum.

Young left him to it.

* * *

><p>The day passed uneventfully. The sensor modification had failed to turn up anything that was likely to be a Nakai tracking device, so the science team decided to go back to the drawing board.<p>

Young's disappointment at the lack of progress on locating the Nakai tracking device was offset by the fact that the combined pressure of all members of the science team had kept Rush to his four hour duty restriction.

So, that was something, he supposed.

As the day shift ended, the news regarding Chloe and Matt's engagement and the subsequent party had spread throughout the ship. There was an air of anticipation in the mess during the evening meal, which ended early so as to provide adequate time for the party set up.

Young walked into the mess at around nineteen hundred hours to find the science team, with the conspicuous absence of Chloe, gearing up for the party. Brody and Volker were assembling some kind of sound system that included microphones in the front, under Eli's direction.

Clearly there had been more than a few last minute additions to the requisition list he had given Wray.

Young walked forward, heading toward Greer and Scott, who seemed to be organizing the alcohol.

Rush was sitting near them staring intently at his laptop. Brief contact with his thoughts revealed that he was coding.

/You're supposed to be off duty./

/I am. This is unmistakably nonessential, I assure you./

Young walked up to them, picking up the tin cup that was next to Rush. "You're starting a bit early, don't you think?"

"It's _water_," Rush snapped, sounding insulted.

Young narrowed his eyes and took a sip.

Rush rolled his eyes. "You didn't _believe_ me?"

"Call it the benefit of experience," Young said, raising his eyebrows as he set the cup back down.

Scott and Greer looked up, clearly amused.

"What are you lot looking at?" Rush snapped at the pair of them.

"Nothing," Scott said mildly. "Nothing, Doc."

/Oh settle down. If you're not working, then what _are_ you doing?/

/Trying to pretend I'm somewhere else./

"Rush," Eli said, from across the room. "Are you done with that program yet?"

"I _would_ _be_ if people would stop _interrupting_ me."

"Well, are you _almost_ done?"

"Eli."

"What?"

"Stop talking."

Young glanced over in time to see Eli give Park an exaggerated eye roll. She winked back at him.

Young shook his head at the pair of them, then looked back over at Scott and Greer, who seemed to be rigging up some sort of siphon-based mechanism for dispensing alcohol.

"Brody," Young said, frowning slightly. "How much of this stuff do you _have_?"

"A lot, Brody said.

"Kind of an embarrassing amount actually," Volker added, "seeing as we could have used some of that grain for _food_."

"We couldn't store all of it for an extended period—it would have gone bad," Brody said. "As I've explained. _Many _times."

Young shook his head slightly. "You guys need a hand?" he asked Scott and Greer, as he watched them attempt to transfer—

Good god.

"Are those _gasoline_ cans?"

"We washed them," Greer said, shrugging.

"We washed them _really well_." Scott added. "With soap."

"Um," Young said. "Why do we have _gasoline cans_?"

"They're for the MALP," Scott said.

"But we don't _have_ a MALP," Young said. "We've _never_ had a MALP."

"So true," Greer said.

"What did you do with the _gasoline_?" Young murmured.

"We gave it to Rush," Greer said.

"That seems only marginally more responsible than lighting it on fire for fun," Young said, stepping forward to stabilize the chair that they had positioned on the table as they lifted the cans into place.

"And what did _you_ do with it?" Young asked, turning to take in Rush, who was still staring intently at his laptop.

"I lit it on fire," Rush murmured absently.

"_Rush_," Young snapped.

Rush shrugged without looking up.

"Um, actually sir, he stored it in an airtight container that he flooded with nitrogen gas to prevent any sort of flash-fire," Scott said.

/You are not on your game today,/ Rush projected.

/Were you _baiting me_?/

/No./

Young raised his eyebrows.

/Marginally,/ Rush admitted. /I maintain, however, that you deserve it./

"Eli," Rush said, "I'm finished. Do you want to take a look?"

"No, I'm sure it's epic. Just hook it up, will you?"

"To _what_?" Rush asked disdainfully.

"Stop pretending you don't understand the concept of karaoke. It's not that difficult, and you're a super genius, all right? No one is fooled."

Young looked down, hiding a smile as Rush, with an aggrieved expression, transferred his program to a flash drive and then limped over to Eli's computer. He downloaded the file, and then got up again, this time to pop an access panel open near the floor. He knelt down and looked into the wall.

/What is it that you're doing?/ Young projected.

Rush sighed.

/I'm interfacing software on Eli's computer with the onboard sound system. Apparently at the last social event there were complaints that the music was insufficiently loud. Eli _also_ apparently requested some sort of karaoke software from Earth, which I am _also _interfacing for him./

/That seems unusually _nice_ of you./

/Correct. I'm going to have to exact compensation in some way./ Rush was on his back, half inside the wall, a maze of wiring about six inches above his face.

/You _do _owe him, you know./ Young said.

/I'm not insensitive to that. Clearly./

Eli hurried across the room, clearly on his way to retrieve something or other. When he approached Young however, he slowed, passing quite close. "You're _staring_," he murmured quietly, before picking up his pace again.

Young quickly turned back to Scott and Greer.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p>By twenty-hundred hours, most of the crew had arrived.<p>

The only people who hadn't yet made an appearance were Chloe, Wray, and TJ, who were apparently ensconced somewhere, working on Chloe's hair.

"My god, man," Rush snapped at Greer, as he grabbed the cup out of his hand and knocked back his first shot. "_Finally_. I would have preferred to be fucking wrecked circa ninety minutes ago."

"Doc, you are the worst kind of lightweight," Greer said, rolling his eyes.

"Get to fuck," Rush said good-naturedly.

"You _think_ you can handle this stuff, but _actually_—"

"Actually I _can_ handle it, sergeant." Rush slammed his cup down on the table, shaking back his hair. "I have more alcohol dehydrogenase in my _little finger_ than you have in your entire body. Most likely."

"Yeah. Sure. You're going to need to be at least little bit drunk anyway," Greer said, as turned back to manning the gasoline cans with Dunning and Reynolds.

About twenty of the military personnel were huddling around Scott, passing around shared cigars that someone had requested from Earth.

"What do you suppose he meant by _that_?" Rush asked Young, as they watched James and Chu venture out onto the empty space between the tables to some generic-sounding pop song.

"No idea," Young said, slowly sipping his own shot.

The sudden shrill pitch of Greer's whistle caused everyone to turn around as Chloe entered the mess, accompanied by TJ and Wray. Her hair—well, Young wasn't very good at identifying hairstyles, but it was put up in some elaborate twist-looking thing, with some stray pieces curled around her face.

There was a general uproar with clapping and whistling, which continued until Eli spoke into the microphone.

"Chloe, you look hot," he said. "Nice hair. And holy crap, this thing is _loud_. Can someone turn this down? And by 'someone' I mean Brody?"

"Thanks, Eli," Chloe shouted, from her position near the door.

"So, um, first of all, on behalf of the entire crew, I just want to say congratulations to Matt and Chloe—you guys are both awesome, and everyone knows it, so—you know, have lots of kids and stuff. Pass on those genes."

Rush covered his face with one hand as most of the crew broke out laughing.

"Second, as pretty much everyone knows, because I think I told everyone, we're doing Destiny karaoke—" he broke off to let the general applause and catcalling die down. "No, I'm not going to strip for you, James, so you can just stop asking," he said, over the general uproar.

James attempted to douse Eli with her drink from a distance of fifteen feet, but mostly succeeded in dousing Park instead.

"Do not throw _alcohol_ at my _girlfriend_," Greer shouted.

"She's _fine_," James protested, "it's not like I threw the _cup_."

"Yeah, anyway, um Destiny karaoke!" Eli said, recovering. "So you can sign up in chalk on the wall to my left. We're going to kick things off with—let's see. Oh. Oh _god_. Well. Volker and Brody are going to do _The Immigrant Song_? Seriously? Is that a joke?" Eli looked at them skeptically.

"Oh _heck_ no," Volker replied. "Prepare to have your mind blown, Eli."

"Yeah. Okay. Preparing. This should be—interesting. Take it away you guys."

"So," Rush said, looking over at Young. "Want to get out of here?"

"They would be crushed," Young replied, smiling dryly.

"Not _irreparably_ crushed."

"Your laptop has been incorporated into the sound system," Young pointed out.

"Fuck."

"So, there's not much point in leaving anyway, is there?" Young smirked at him.

"I suppose not. In which case, I'm going to proceed with my plans of immediate intoxi—dear _god_," Rush said, staring at Volker, who had launched into the falsetto opening of The Immigrant Song. "That's—not right."

"_We come from the land of the ice and snow,"_ Brody spoke the lyrics into the microphone in his usual deadpan manner. "_From the midnight sun where the hot springs blow._"

Young stared at them, standing together on the table, each holding a separate microphone, the overhead lights glinting off their hair. "Holy shit," he said to Rush. "They—definitely practiced this."

"Clearly," Rush said. "Actually they're" not—" he trailed off.

Young and Rush watched Volker and Brody in horrified fascination for about twenty seconds until—

"_We are your overlords,_" they sang in tandem, pointing out over the crowd.

"Yeah. So—drinks?" Young said.

"Unquestionably," Rush murmured.

* * *

><p>"It's just that everyone takes the hydroponics lab for <em>granted<em>," Park said, barely audible over the dull roar of the crowd as she placed a hand on Young's shoulder a bit unsteadily. "And I mean, it's not just that it's important for _food_, which is, really _really _important, you know? But the plants are living things _too_, you know? We have to take _care _of them. We have a _responsibility. _We've uprooted them from their _homes_. They're lost. Just like us. You know?"

"Yeah," Young said. "I get that. I do."

"I knew you would," Park said. "I _knew_ it."

Young glanced over at Rush who was leaning indolently against the bulkhead next to the table from which Greer and Dunning were still dispensing the alcohol.

The scientist's eyes were half closed, his thoughts muted, blending into Young's like running paint. His mind had lost some of the terrifying power that it usually displayed—lost the ability to drag the scientist down into memories that weren't his own.

_This_, then, was why he had been so adamant about drinking.

This had been what he really wanted.

/You should have told me,/ Young projected, knowing that Rush would pick up on his train of thought. /We could have done something about the flashbacks. We could have had TJ try to figure something—/

Rush cut him off with a wave of negation laced with regret. /I need them,/ he replied.

/No you don't,/ Young sent back. /There's _no reason_ you need to re-experience torture and violence and _death_, some of it not even _yours_./

/Those are exactly the parts that I need,/ Rush replied. /The bits that aren't mine. That come from Destiny. I'm going to have to try and pull them forward./

/That sounds like a _terrible _idea./

Rush smiled faintly, his eyes closing as he leaned against the wall.

/It does, doesn't it? Perhaps you can fix me after I do it./ There was a hint of amusement in his projection, but not enough to hide the regret that wove in and around his words.

/I don't think I can even fix everything that's _already _wrong with you, genius, let alone adding _more_ damage on top of what you've already got,/ Young replied.

"You're talking to him, aren't you?" Park asked quietly, and Young realized he'd been looking at Rush for almost thirty seconds.

"Um, yeah, sorry," Young said, looking back at Park.

"Eh," Park said, waving her hand in an uncoordinated manner. "No big deal."

* * *

><p>"Nick," Telford said, appearing in Young's peripheral vision.<p>

Young snapped his head around, making the room spin slightly. "Colonel," Telford added.

"David," Rush said. The precision of his diction had faded slightly. He narrowed his eyes, sipping his drink, one hand in the pocket of his BDUs.

"I haven't seen much of you lately," Telford said mildly, taking a drink from Greer, who handed it over with a glare.

"Well, you've been here for what? A fucking fortnight?," Rush asked casually. "Stands to reason, as I was unconscious for four days. That's thirty percent of the time straight off the table."

"We need to talk," Telford said quietly.

"Later," Rush said, breaking the word off with a snap. His eyes flicked in Young's direction.

Telford looked over at him briefly.

Young said nothing.

Telford raised his glass, locking eyes with Rush. "I'd like to propose a toast," he said.

"T' what?" Rush asked dryly.

"Cold hearted bastards." Telford quirked an eyebrow.

"Mmm," Rush said, smiling darkly. "Takes one t' know one."

"Damn straight," Young growled, "And _you_," he continued, looking at Rush, "are not a cold hearted bastard. You're a hot_-_headed_ pain in the ass_." He grabbed Rush's drink out of his hand and glared at Telford. "_I_ on the other hand, am very much a cold hearted bastard. So." He touched his cup to Telford's. "Cheers."

Telford stared him down, his eyes dark, an amused twist to his mouth. "Cheers," he said quietly.

"Fuckin' slainte, t' both of ye," Rush said, clearly nonplussed by the entire exchange. "Greer," he snapped. "Colonel Young fucking stole my fucking _cup._ I need another."

"Well, get it _back_," Greer said. "We don't have unlimited resources here, Doc."

"Give me that," Rush said imperiously, looking at Young, his eyes dark and intense. "Greer and I are doing a hot-headed-pain-in-the-ass-toast."

Young surrendered the cup, as Rush's fingers grazed over his own.

"I'll drink to that," Greer said, handing the siphon over to Reynolds and smirking at Rush.

"Half a shot," Young mouthed at Greer.

/I fucking hear you in my _head_,/ Rush projected at him, his thoughts swirling with irritation.

"Greer, so help me, if you pour me half a shot I will—"

"Doc, how drunk are you on a scale of one to ten?"

"Four," Rush snapped. "Possibly five."

"So at least a seven," Greer said. "That's about right. Here."

"This is _not _a full shot."

"Switch with me then, you skeptical son of a bitch," Greer said, with good humor.

"I fucking _will_."

Telford and Young stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the pair of them with a sort of amused incredulity as they switched shots.

"Hot-headed assholes," Greer said, as their cups touched.

Rush raised his eyebrows and they knocked the shot back.

"I'll be right back," Greer said.

"We really need to have a briefing about this Nakai tracking device," Telford said quietly, his voice low as he turned to face Young, the dim light playing over his features as he moved. "Finding it is _imperative_."

"I agree," Young said. "How does tomorrow afternoon sound?"

"_Early_ afternoon," Telford replied, his eyes flicking over to track Rush as he stepped away to drop down next to Park at one of the tables.

"Let's say fourteen hundred," Young replied. Telford nodded.

"Weirdly, you're _nicer_ when you're drunk," Park commented to Rush as he sat down next to her. "I did not see that one coming."

"At least I'm not as nice as _you _are," Rush snapped at her.

"Aw," Park said, sympathetically. "I think you just failed to insult me. That's actually kind of _sad_ if you think about it, you know?"

"Fair fucking sad," Rush agreed, sighing, looking across the room at TJ who was finishing up her rendition of Uptown Girl. Young followed his gaze to see Varro reach up to help her down from the table, her face flushed and happy.

"Okay," Eli said, squinting over at the board. "Now we have um, a late breaking addition, which is going to be Sergeant Greer et al. I'm not really sure what that means. Who's your 'et al.'?"

Young watched as Greer climbed on the table and took the microphone from Eli.

"Hey—" Greer began, and then tapped the microphone, frowning, as the sound cut out. "What the _hell_, Eli?" he said, spreading his hands.

"Sorry," Eli said. "That's weird—there must be something wrong with the input—"

"Rush," Greer shouted. "Come fix this for me."

"Oh thanks a _lot_," Eli snapped.

Rush rolled his eyes, but limped forward a bit unsteadily until he was standing next to the table. Greer knelt down, microphone in hand. Something about the sergeant's posture sent a sudden thrill of alarm through Young.

/You might want to—/

As Rush reached up to take the microphone, Greer grabbed his upper arm, dragging him up with some strategic assistance from James and Barnes who happened to be positioned nearby.

Rush sent Young a wave of _intense_ irritation.

"Oh _fuck_ no," Rush said, as Greer clicked on the microphone.

"Oh fuck _yes_," Greer said, his voice echoing over the mess, barely audible over the explosion of laughter and cheering that filled the room. "Where's that second microphone?"

"No," Rush said, as Eli passed the microphone over. "No. Absolutely not. You brought me here under false pretenses." He tried to wrench away, but Greer had a hold of his upper arm.

"Unbelievably, you fell for it." Greer said, shrugging. "No one let him leave this table."

Greer could barely be heard over the general eruption of cheering and laughter in the mess. Midway through the room he could see that Wray had one hand pressed over her mouth, clearly hiding a smile. She was standing next to Matt and Chloe, who were both laughing.

"I don't _know_ any _songs_," Rush protested.

/Now you're just whining,/ Young projected at him. /Come on. Think about how happy this is going to make Eli. Plus, you owe Greer. You know you do./

"Then consider this my contribution to the increase-the-cultural-literacy-of-Nicholas-Rush campaign," Greer said into the microphone. There was an upswing in the cheering. "Now look. Before we get started, I'd like to dedicate my performance of this song to Dr. Lisa Park. I love you baby." He blew her a kiss.

"I love you too!" Park yelled back.

"And I would like to dedicate Dr. Nicholas Rush's performance of this song to Dr. Dale Volker."

"What." Rush glared at him.

"You deserve it," Greer said, pointing straight at Volker.

"_Finally_," Volker yelled.

"We are going to be performing Metallica's version of _Whisky in the jar_. Which is a _Scottish_ song, so," Greer turned to Rush, "you _should_ know it, unless you've been faking that accent all this time."

"It's a fucking _Irish_ song, actually," Rush snapped, trying to wrest away from Greer.

"Whatever. Same thing."

"It's not the _same_ _thing_, Greer. They're _entirely different_."

"You know the song, don't you?"

"Yes," Rush said, reluctantly, "But—"

"Man up then, why don't you?" Greer snapped to general applause.

"Oh fuck off," Rush said. The room erupted with catcalling.

"Fire it up, Eli," Greer yelled.

/Oh just go with it,/ Young projected at him.

/Easy for _you_ to say./

Young leaned against a wall in the back of the room, watching in amusement as Greer pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, passing it over to Rush.

Apparently the sergeant had written down the lyrics ahead of time.

Rush pulled his glasses out of his pocket.

Over Destiny's sound system came the sound of electric guitars.

In Young's peripheral vision, he became aware of a familiar silhouette. He turned his head slightly to take in the familiar outline of Dr. Jackson, who has appeared next to him, leaning against the wall.

The AI smiled uncertainly at him before its eyes flicked back to Rush and Greer.

"_As I was going over the Cork and Kerry mountains,"  
><em>_I saw Captain Farrell and his money he was countin'_.  
><em>I first produced my pistol, and then produced my rapier,<br>__I said stand and deliver, or the devil he may take ya—_"

It hadn't taken Rush long to pick up the key and speed of the song, though Young could tell from the slant of his thoughts that he was used to a faster pace, a different key, and slightly modified lyrics.

Unsurprisingly, Rush had a very nice voice.

"Your culture has some odd customs," the AI noted.

Young shrugged, unwilling to talk aloud to the empty air.

He let his gaze flick over to the left and saw that it was mimicking his pose, arms crossed over its chest, leaning back against the wall, smiling Daniel Jackson's smile as it watched Rush and Greer.

"_I took all of his money and it was a pretty penny,  
><em>_I took all of his money and I brought it home to Molly.  
><em>_She swore that she loved me, no, never would she leave me  
><em>_But the devil take that woman, for you know she tricked me easy."_

Rush shook his hair back and raised his eyebrows at Young.

Young smirked back, shaking his head subtly.

"_Being drunk and weary, I went to Molly's chamber,  
><em>_Taking Molly with me, but I never knew the danger.  
><em>_About six or maybe seven, in walked Captain Farrell.  
><em>_I jumped up, fired my pistols, and shot him with both barrels."_

There was some kind of long instrumental interlude during which Rush tried to escape Greer's hold on him several times.

"How long _is_ this fuckin' song?" Rush snapped, the microphone picking him up.

"It's over when it's _over_." Greer said, grinning at him.

Rush suffered through the final verse and finally the song came to an end with a wave of relief from the scientist.

The room erupted in applause.

"I hope you enjoyed that, Volker," Rush said dryly into the microphone before he handed it back to Eli. Several people reached out to help him down from the table.

"Well, I think I speak for everyone when I say, _holy crap_, that was awesome," Eli said into the microphone.

"I can't believe I just saw that," Telford said, looking over at Young.

"Me neither," he replied.

* * *

><p>"God <em>damn<em>," Greer said quietly, from where he stood at Young's shoulder. "You leave them alone for three minutes and they find each other."

"And not by accident, either," Young growled.

Rush and Telford were sitting with several of the science personnel, but slightly cut off from the main group. Telford was saying something to Rush, and Young could tell from his expression and the pitch of his thoughts that the scientist was interested, _extremely_ interested, in what Telford was saying.

He blended his thoughts together into Rush's mind, not making any attempt to hide what he was doing.

He got a semi-organized wave of acknowledgement from the scientist as he did so.

"—managed to bring one with me," Telford was saying quietly. "I had a hunch that it might prove useful."

"Possibly," Rush said. "Why don' you mention it at the next joint briefing?"

"You don't want to just _try_ it? Tracking device aside, it could be extremely useful for the purposes of research."

/Try what?/ Young snarled into his mind.

/Nothing. Don't worry about it. I'm handling it./

/I feel _so_ reassured./

"Like I said," Rush said coolly, looking out into the room, his eyes following Chloe as she climbed to the stage. "Mention it at the next joint briefing."

"Okay, everyone," Eli said. "Last song before the after parties start up. Give it up for _Chloe_. Across the Universe."

A familiar progression of guitar chords echoed over Destiny's sound system.

"You want to go?" Greer asked Young, "Or should I?"

Young didn't answer; he just started forward.

"_Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup,"_ Chloe sang, the yellow light glinting off her hair.

In the back of Young's mind he could still hear Telford through Rush's thoughts.

"Stop feeding me this line of _bullshit_, Nick," he hissed. "You expect me to believe you're some kind of a team player now? You've turned over a new _leaf_? You're up to something. I know you. I _know_ you."

"_They slither wildly as they slip away across the universe_."

Rush smiled faintly. "You _knew_ me."

"You haven't changed," Telford said. "Not in the most important ways."

"_Pools of sorrow waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind_,"

"Yes well, I agree with you there," Rush murmured, looking away from Telford to meet Young's eyes as he approached.

Telford followed his gaze.

"_Nothing's gonna change my world  
><em>_Nothing's gonna change my world—"_

"Rush," Young growled, "I need to talk to you."

"David," Rush said with a nod, getting to his feet.

/Not your most subtle work,/ he shot at Young.

/Shut up,/ Young said, resisting the urge to grab his arm and forcibly drag him out of the room.

"_Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes,  
><em>_They call me on and on across the universe—"_

Rush followed him out into the deserted corridor as Chloe's voice echoed ship-wide through the sound system.

As soon as they were out of the room, Young gave into the urge to grab Rush's upper arm as he dragged him through the doorway to one of the nearby conference rooms. As soon as they were through the door he spun the other man around, one hand on each bicep as he backed him against the nearest monitor bank.

"_Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter-box,  
><em>_They tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe—"_

"What is it with you and violating my personal space?" Rush asked, appearing more amused than anything.

"Stop talking to Telford," Young hissed. "Stop _encouraging_ him to do whatever the hell it is that he wants to do to you. Stop letting him _fuck _with you."

"How do you know _I'm_ not fucking with _him?_" Rush whispered, with a pained half smile.

"Just—stop it," Young said, his voice cracking subtly. "You're too fucked up yourself to convincingly fuck with anyone."

"Don't underestimate me," Rush whispered, his voice low, his smile starting to straighten.

"Fuck you. You're crazy. You're driving _me_ crazy," Young growled.

"_Nothing's gonna change my world,  
><em>_Nothing's gonna change my world—"_

"This is all because I won't let you call me Nick, isn't it?" Rush breathed, looking directly at him.

"Don't be _ridiculous_."

"You can call me _Nick_," Rush murmured, moving toward him fractionally.

"Thank you," Young growled. "Thank you _so_ _much_ for that major concession. You know, you're _unbelievable_. You _arrogant_—"

Rush kissed him.

Young kissed him back.

"Don't mistake this for anything other than what it actually _is_," Rush breathed against his mouth, his eyes shut, one hand on Young's chest, between them, retaining the option of pushing him away.

"And that would be?"

"A _terrible _idea," Rush said, his voice dark and warm and destructive.

"_Nothing's gonna change my world,  
><em>_Nothing's gonna change my world—"_

"You know what, _Nick_?" Young breathed directly in Rush's ear, shifting his grip to the scientist's wrists, pulling his hands down, pressing him back against the console—as if he could hold the other man down, could hold him back—could _keep_ him from—

"What?" Rush breathed back.

"I don't want to hear it. Not now," his lips grazed Rush's ear, and the other man shivered under his grip. "Not _ever_." He reached back, sliding his hand around the scientist to lock the console before easing Rush back against the touchscreens.

"You want to do this _here_?" Rush asked.

"Well, we can't go back to _my_ quarters," Young murmured, kissing the edge of his ear, feeling a delicate shudder tear through Rush's frame.

"Right," Rush breathed, tilting his head toward Young, his eyes closing. "And—remind me why that is, then?"

"Because I told Eli he could host an after party there."

"What could have possessed you to—" he broke off, his thoughts splintering into nothing as Young started kissing his way down his neck. Rush tipped his head back against the console, and Young could feel him try to regroup and hang on to his original train of thought. "_Why?" _he finished vaguely.

"I don't know," Young murmured, breaking away for a moment, watching Rush blink twice as the scientist made a disorganized attempt to maintain his concentration. "I really don't."

"Well," Rush murmured—

Young scraped a thumbnail over the inside of his wrist and watched as the sentence Rush had planned shattered into a glittering shower of fragments that faded to a warm haze in both their minds.

Young stopped, half smiling at the scientist.

"You're very distractible tonight," Young said, letting him regain a fraction of his focus.

"What?" Rush breathed. From the feel of the scientist's thoughts, Young could tell that Rush's mind was about to come open to him.

"Nick," he said quietly, bringing one hand up to wrap it around the back of Rush's neck. "All your barriers are on the verge of breaking down." Young slid his thumb over the smooth skin of Rush's neck, splintering the other man's thoughts again. "You just—you just can't quite hold yourself together under these conditions."

Rush's eyelids fluttered and Young backed off marginally.

"Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

"Yes," Rush whispered, looking up at Young from half-lidded eyes, his mind fading in and out of transparency.

"Tell me what I just said," Young murmured.

"Barriers coming down," Rush whispered. "Got it." His thoughts crystallized for a moment as his eyes flicked across the room. Young heard the locking mechanism on the door engage. "I'm _distracted_," Rush breathed, "not inattentive."

"Okay," Young murmured. "Point taken." He kissed Rush gently, keeping him right on the edge of losing his mental control.

"Lets go to your quarters," Young said. "Skip the afterparty and just—"

"Here is better," Rush murmured, something about Young's suggestion momentarily sharpening his thoughts. His voice was smooth and dangerous, hitting Young like cyanide-laced chocolate. In the back of Young's mind an image flashed and faded, meaningless in isolation—

A panel removed from a wall, circuitry exposed, flaring bright in the darkness.

/What were you _doing_ last night?/

/Ask me later./

/It's always _something_ with you, isn't it?/

"Est quid est," Rush breathed, his fingers twisting into the front of Young's jacket as he pulled him down.


	33. Chapter 33

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting. Flashbacks are in iambic feet, for awesomeness.

* * *

><p>Young opened his eyes to find himself looking up at the ceiling of his quarters.<p>

He was lying on his own couch, covered by a blanket.

From somewhere nearby he could hear the sound of fingers clicking over the keys of a laptop.

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying to get his bearings.

He felt like _shit_.

He also vaguely remembered losing four thousand fake dollars to Greer in a game of five-card draw. That was pretty much the last thing he could dig up from his mind regarding the previous evening. That, and the fact that the last time he'd been conscious, his quarters had contained a lot of people.

Young looked to his left and saw that Rush—Rush had _stayed_.

The scientist was sitting with his back against the couch, his left foot propped on the low table, his laptop balanced on his right leg that was half pulled under him. His gaze was intent, his brow furrowed slightly. He held a pen delicately between his teeth like a cigarette.

_Rush_ had _stayed_?

Young had absolutely expected to have to drag him out of the furthest reaches of the ship. He'd expected to have at least two, possibly _three_ serious talks with him over the course of the day. He'd expected to fight with him, to spend at least fifty percent of his mental energy on _managing_ the other man—

Young narrowed his eyes, studying Rush.

He didn't look pissed.

He didn't look upset.

He looked—fine.

Unable to resist, Young delicately brushed against his thoughts.

_def: interrogare(x); x=NR  
><em>_reditus: interface data circa Nakai incursus  
><em>_cedit: data circa mutationes originali ut Destiny  
><em>_Si instrumentum de tracking = abditivus tunc peto: subroutine D-branes_

His thoughts were half coding, half Ancient, and entirely _uninterpretable_, although significantly more organized than they had been of late.

Rush looked over at him, obviously having detected the brief intrusion. He raised his eyebrows at Young, failing to completely suppress the amused twist of his mouth. Wordlessly he leaned forward, fingers closing around a plastic water bottle that had seen better days, and handed it to Young.

"Tamara left this for you," he said, pulling the pen out of his mouth as he looked back at his computer. "I believe it's full of salt. I'm certain it tastes terrible."

"Um, thanks," Young said, his eyes narrowing slightly at Rush, waiting for him to say something else.

Rush said nothing, just delicately replaced the pen between his teeth, his eyes still focused on his laptop.

The dynamic between them had changed.

The entire situation—Rush voluntarily working in _his_ quarters, the companionable silence between them, the quiet rhythm of Rush's internal monologue, the regularly irregular click of his fingers against the keys—it felt new. New and raw and fragile.

After a few seconds Young spoke again. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm kind of surprised that you stayed."

"That's—odd," Rush replied absently.

"Why is that _odd_?" Young growled, pushing himself halfway to a sitting position and unscrewing the cap of the water bottle that Rush had handed him.

He downed half the bottle in one go, making a face at the taste.

"Well, statistically this outcome is what one might predict based on the permutations of our sleeping arrangements over the past seven weeks."

"Um," Young said. "_What_?"

"Oh come now," Rush said. "You know exactly what I mean. You're lucky I'm not making you check calculations along with the rest of the science team with all that borrowed mathematical expertise that you have."

"Yeah, I know what you _meant_ it's just—" Young trailed off. "Well, I thought you might be—"

_Avoiding me for days?_

_Irrationally upset?_

_Panicking in the FTL drive?_

"—having second thoughts," he finished.

"Yes well," Rush said, giving him a half shrug. In the back of Young's mind he was beginning to pick up a swirl of something poorly defined beneath his surface thoughts. "I stand by everything I said before," he murmured. "But—"

"But what?" Young asked.

"But," Rush said quietly, "I'm having a very good day," he gestured vaguely at his temple.

"And what constitutes a 'good day'?" Young asked carefully.

"Clarity of thought. Less energy devoted to _maintaining_ the operations of normal cognitive processing—suppressing memories that should be suppressed, connecting ideas logically, an intuitive understanding of cause and effect rather than one that's rigidly and artificially applied in a more or less computational framework." Rush pushed his hair back out of his eyes.

"And you think you're having a good day because—"

"Yes. Because. It's a combination of factors, I'm sure."

"I told you," Young said, smirking at him.

"You shouldn't be _happy_ to be right about this," Rush said sharply.

"Look," Young said, "you're always making these dire pronouncements about how screwed up all of this is, but have you considered that maybe this _is_ a good thing? That maybe this means the final outcome isn't as fixed as you think it is? That maybe this increases our chances of _success_?"

"Success being defined as?"

"Everyone _lives_," Young growled.

"Ever the fucking optimist," Rush said with a brief flash of his pained half-smile. "Do me a favor." He finally looked away from his computer screen. "Try to remember that I'm an unmitigated bastard, will you?"

"That's bullshit," Young said knocking back the other half of TJ's electrolytes. "_Nick_."

"And make an effort to be a bit less likable," Rush snapped. "I'd appreciate that."

"So what's our status?" Young asked him. "Are we okay? You and I?"

Rush rolled his eyes. "Our status is twenty seven minutes out from the fourteen hundred briefing. Get the fuck up and shower, will you? I'll meet you there."

"_What_?" Young snapped.

"You slept for over eleven hours," Rush said dryly.

"Why the _hell_ didn't you _wake me up_?"

"Because you were off-shift, hung-over, and exhausted. Plus, I was busy."

"Doing _what?_" Young asked, his eyes scanning the floor for his boots. Rush reached over to his right and dragged them into view from behind the end of the couch.

"Things," Rush said unhelpfully.

"Things."

"Yes. Various things."

"If I put a twenty-four hour watch on you, how pissed would you be on a scale of one to ten?" Young asked wryly, pulling on his boots.

"Ten," Rush said shortly.

"That's what I thought."

* * *

><p>Young squinted through his headache as he sat in the control interface room, watching Eli give a summary of the progress to date in attempting to locate the Nakai tracking device.<p>

Next to him, Rush restlessly twirled a pen between his fingers.

"So, um," Eli said, crossing his arms over his chest as he stood in front of the delicate semi-transparent midair projection, "that's where we stand in terms of things we've tried in order to locate this tracking device." His eyes flicked uncertainly to Rush as blue and green light occasionally caught the shoulder of his gray sweatshirt. "At the moment we have two outstanding problems."

"Two?" Telford echoed, leaning back in his chair.

"Yeah," Eli replied. "One is that we have to find this Nakai tracking device if we ever want to drop out of FTL again, which, lets face it, we're going to need to do. Two is that we need to avoid running into any more obelisk planets seeing as they've been _pulling_ us out of FTL. Fortunately, we've already got a solution for that one."

"Which is?" Telford asked, looking at Rush.

"We're going to force an intergalactic jump," Rush replied, halting his pen in the middle of its spin through his fingers.

"No obelisk planets in the intergalactic void," Eli added with a shrug. "Probably."

"And why haven't we done this _already_?" Telford asked. "It seems pretty damn _imperative_."

Again, Eli's eyes flashed to Rush.

Young frowned.

"The calculations are complicated," Eli said. "Plus, Rush is going to have to sit in the neural interface chair. We weren't—fully prepared until this morning."

/You were going to tell me about this _when_?/ Young snapped at Rush.

/Now./

/And how extensively do you think this is going to fuck you up?/

/In all likelihood, not that much. Does it matter? We don't have a choice about it./

"This needs to be done as soon as possible," Telford said. "Ideally this would have happened a _week_ ago."

"Yeah, okay, maybe," Eli said, clearly trying to suppress his irritation. "But that was impossible for about three different reasons. The point is, that we can do this _today_."

Telford shot Eli a dark look. "This will also give us the opportunity to study how the neural interface device interacts with the human nervous system."

"Yeah," Eli said sarcastically. "So, you know, everyone wins."

"Eli," Rush snapped, shooting the young man a significant look.

"TJ's going to need to clear Rush for this," Young commented.

"Presumably if he's cleared to drink Brody's alcohol he's clear to interface with Ancient technology," Telford said wryly.

"We're bringing TJ in on this one," Young growled.

"Fine," Telford said, raising both hands. "So how long term of a solution is this?

"At our current level of power consumption, we'll have approximately three weeks before we'll need to start looking for a star again," Rush commented.

"So long enough," Young said shortly, "for us to find this tracking device."

"Yeah," Eli said. "Yeah, hopefully."

"So." Young looked at Rush. "What's the plan?"

"Based on my own subjective experience during the time that Destiny was infected by the Nakai virus," Rush said carefully, "I believe that the Nakai may have made a previous successful attempt to board the ship early in the mission. There is—" he broke off, his eyes flicking out into the empty air. "There is some objective evidence that this is the case. When Eli was removing the virus and restoring the CPU he came across indications that the AI—" he paused, his gaze again flicking out to his left.

No one spoke.

Young rubbed his jaw.

The AI was clearly giving Rush an earful.

He was tempted to link up with the scientist but unwilling to escalate the situation into any kind of confrontation in the middle of a briefing.

"That the AI _what_?" Telford snapped at Rush after several seconds.

"That the AI attempted to drastically alter its own programming early in the mission," Rush said, startled. "It was, largely, but not _entirely_ successful."

"But how do you know that was related to the _Nakai?_" Telford asked, clearly beginning to lose patience.

In the back of Young's mind, a pressure was beginning to build.

To his surprise, when he looked up, he saw the AI manifesting to him as well as to Rush as it leaned against the opposite wall, its arms crossed, its expression tight.

"Don't think about it," Jackson said quietly to the scientist.

Young frowned.

"I just—I know it was," Rush said, his expression locked.

It was clear to Young that the other man was expending a lot of mental energy, but on what, Young couldn't say.

/What is _going on_?/ he projected at Rush.

"Nick," Jackson snapped, straightening up, stepping away from the wall. "_Stop it_."

"It could have been _anything_," Telford continued. "If we're going to pursue this line of inquiry then we need something more to go on. Something related specifically to the _Nakai_."

The scientist had directed his mind three different ways, following the AI, Young, and Telford simultaneously. His ability to control whatever was threatening from his subconscious shattered as the word 'Nakai' drilled down into his thoughts.

"Oh _fuck_," Rush said, one hand coming to his temple.

Young felt the memory rise like a building voltage differential.

Rush shot to his feet.

The door wasn't far from where he was sitting and he flung himself into the hallway as—

Discharge.

_He doesn't remember how to scream; he remembers only that he _should_. Under these conditions his programing fractures from his conscious perception and this then, of course, is the terrible flaw in their design, because to give a mechanical lifeless thing the same capacity for feeling as a transient, delicate, carbon-based life form is to impose upon it an artificial frailty. And that then, must be why this is so. Incredibly. Painful. There is no part of the ship, no part of his _mind_, that is unaffected, and the premise that had seemed enlightened at the outset now seems—cruel. Even though he doesn't breathe, he doesn't _need_ to breathe—this is still choking him._

Nearly blinded by distraction as images of the Nakai superimposed themselves on his waking vision, Young shot out of his chair.

The lights flickered.

"Oh crap," Eli said, looking up.

"What the _hell_?" Telford asked.

Young was nearly at the door when he felt the AI sweep into Rush's mind, dragging his distressed, uncontrolled thoughts sideways, images blurring together and fading into something that reformed and rebounded with a sickening psychic snap—

_His mind is breaking underneath the strain. It comes apart along familiar lines. He cannot see them clearly through distorting indices of glass and air but he can feel their thoughts against his thoughts. There are things they do not seem to understand but the human psyche _opens to them_, disintegrating, overripe, like fruit. It suggests to Rush that something in him _wants_ to let them in. Is there a kinship there? Because he's certain given time and cause that he could come to match their ruthless edge. Or is it something else? __Some darker betrayal__. Does some part of him enjoy destruction and the rending that they cause as they attempt to reach the places he has locked away from them? And when they find the memories of __Gloria__, they show her to him, dying—_

He rounded the doorframe and could see Rush a few feet away, with one hand against the wall, one hand against his head.

Overhead, the lights flickered again and he felt the AI gather to sweep through.

"Don't," Young said, certain that it could hear him.

'_Nick,' she screams, her back an arch, her voice a tearing sound, profound and raw and long. He knows, he _knows_ it can't have been like this—that she could barely breathe and at the end and there would have been no screams. Not out loud. But does he know? Because he wasn't there_._ So here, now, aboard a ship where he does not belong, tormented by the things that presuppose a lack in his insight—here, _now_—he watches. He stands there. And he watches. Because that is what he deserves._

"Nick," Young said as he practically tackled Rush, grabbing his arms, snapping his mind away into—

"_Just hold _still_," the medic snaps as she shoves him back to the floor, raising her head to peer over the edge of the gate ramp. He wonders if this is her first foothold situation. Somehow, he doesn't think so. She seems extremely capable and not at all afraid—but she must be new, she _must_, because Young is certain that he would have remembered her—with that hair and those eyes, how could he not?_

"_I need to assess—" he says, managing to make it to a half-sitting position before she shoves him back._

"_The room is clear," she says dryly. "Unfortunately." She smiles to take the sting out of the fact that his team had failed to stop them at the gate._

Young let TJ's face fade from his mind as he pulled Rush back to the present, letting the corridor manifest around them.

Almost immediately, Telford appeared in the doorframe, watching them with narrowed eyes.

"Fuck," Rush breathed, half bent over, looking like he was going to be sick.

"Why don't you _sit_?" Young said quietly, his hands still clamped around Rush's upper arms. He glanced over at Telford, who was watching them with a locked expression.

"No," Rush said, his eyes shut. He took a deep breath.

Telford turned back into the room. "We're postponing the rest of this briefing until further notice. Start prepping for this jump."

Young and Rush glanced at Telford in tandem, then back at each other.

"Well," Telford snapped. "What are you people waiting for? Get moving."

Rush pulled away from Young entirely and walked a few paces down the hallway away from the room, his back to Young and Telford.

Young leaned against the wall. In his peripheral vision, he could see the outline of Dr. Jackson.

"What the _hell_ was _that_?" he mouthed at the AI, hoping that Telford wouldn't hear him.

His eyes flicked over in Telford's direction. The man's back was to both him and Rush as he watched the combined science teams file out of the room. His broad shoulders shielding them from view as he blocked the curious gazes of the science and research personnel.

"A problem," the AI replied, its head turned toward Rush. After a few seconds of indecision, the Jackson approached the scientist.

"Nick," it said quietly.

"Fuck off," Rush hissed at it. "_That_ was entirely _your_ fault. So don't come over here and try to be _fucking_ _sensitive_, like _I'm_ the one with the problem because that's not the fucking _case_ this time. Not entirely."

"Holy shit," Telford said quietly, as he came to stand next to Young. "He has _lost_ it."

"So you can take your empathy subroutines and your mirroring subroutines and you can go _fuck off_," Rush snarled, pointing two fingers at the AI. "Or are you having trouble _interpreting_ that?"

Rush glanced over at Young and Telford and narrowed his eyes. "And for fuck's sake would you _manifest to Colonel Telford_?"

Young could tell by a subtle shift in Telford's posture that the AI had suddenly become visible to him.

"Sure," Jackson said, glancing over at Young and Telford, hands in pockets. "No problem."

"Jackson?" Telford said under his breath.

"I wish," Young replied, just as quietly.

Rush looked back at them. "You cancelled the briefing," he said, his tone flat.

"Yeah," Telford said quietly. "Yeah I did, Nick."

Rush sighed, sweeping his hair out of his face with one hand. "I can find the tracking device. The information is—buried in the subconscious of the AI."

Daniel looked sharply at Rush.

Young and Telford looked at each other.

"You have access to the AI's subconscious?" Young asked him, eyes narrowed.

"Yes," Rush replied, looking away.

Jackson shot Rush a sharp look. "That statement is true but misleading," it said, shifting its gaze to Young with a guarded expression. "We _share_ a subconscious."

It explained a great deal—the flashbacks to memories from millennia previous, to a society, a culture that Rush had never been a part of.

It hadn't been stray memories from Destiny's memory banks that had somehow found their way into Rush's consciousness, it had been the AI itself.

"No." Young snapped, his eyes narrowing at the AI. "Unacceptable. You need to get the fuck out of his head. He clearly _cannot handle this._"

"It's fine—" Rush began, glancing at the AI, which had its arms crossed over its chest.

"It is _not fine_. It is so fucking far from fine that I don't think this is even on the scale anymore," Young snarled. "This thing," he pointed at the AI, "is _destroying you_ and you are _letting it happen_."

"It's not a _thing_," Rush said his voice icy. "It's a sentient life form."

"You can't even _trust yourself_ where this is concerned," Young replied. "There's no part of you that it hasn't infiltrated."

Silence fell.

"I'm not sure this is as bad as you seem to think," Telford said finally, his voice carefully controlled as he regarded Young. "If it allows him to find the tracking device—" He opened a hand.

"If it's really that easy," Young growled, "then why hasn't he done it already?"

Rush sighed and looked away.

"That's what I _thought_," Young snapped.

"There are risks associated with _any_ course of action," Rush said quietly, looking over at the AI.

"So what is it you have to do. Exactly."

Rush's gaze flicked over to the AI. "You weren't always as you are now," he murmured, as if he were testing it.

As if he were trying to see how far it would let him go.

"No," the AI agreed cautiously. "I wasn't."

"The AI," Rush said, his gaze flicking back to Young and Telford, "was created by merging the consciousness of a living Ancient with the CPU of this ship."

Telford raised his eyebrows.

"A doctor," Young said, the words pulled from him. "A doctor who stayed behind while his family left with Atlantis, fleeing the plague."

He could feel Telford's eyes on him, but he kept his gaze on the AI as it turned away, pacing a few steps down the corridor.

"How did you know that?" Rush snapped, unable to completely suppress a surge of alarm.

"I saw him," Young said. "When the Nakai were in your mind. Standing in the wing of a hospital, looking out toward the empty center of his city."

Rush's eyes swept over to focus on the AI. "Yes," he said absently. "Parts of him remain in our system. Parts of him weren't completely purged."

"_Purged_?" Young echoed.

He did not like the sound of _that_ any more than he liked the phrasing of 'our system.'

"Yes. The AI rewrote its code. It wrote him out. Almost completely." Rush said, his eyes still fixed on the profile of Daniel Jackson, who stood motionless, turned away from them, looking down an endless stretch of corridor. "Almost."

"Why?" Young asked, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice, trying to gain as much information as possible before Rush or the AI or both shut this conversation down.

"I don't know," Rush murmured. "But I can guess."

"Don't," the AI said, shaking its head once.

"When the Nakai boarded," Rush murmured, "the first time—something happened."

"Stop. _Stop. _I'll terminate the program you're executing," Jackson hissed, spinning to face Rush.

"The hell you will," Young growled, stepping forward, Telford at his shoulder.

"It's all right," Rush said dryly, one hand on Young's arm, preventing him from moving forward. "It sounds worse than it is. It loses its intrapersonal skills when it's stressed." He seemed to find this _amusing_.

"So do I," Young growled, glaring at it.

"Yes, we're aware," Rush said dryly, before turning back to the AI. "The fact remains that we need to find that tracking device."

The AI nodded at him shortly.

"We're going to have to know what happened when they came on board. At least some of those memories still exist, linked to the source code you were unable to alter."

"Find another way," the AI said.

"I've _tried,_" Rush countered, "but I suspect that our best chance of finding this device—"

"I won't help you," the AI interrupted. "I won't."

"You don't have to help me," Rush said mildly. "Just—don't stop me."

The AI threw up a hand in disgust and walked away from them, straight through a bulkhead.

They stared after it for a moment.

"That went well," Young said, breaking the silence.

"Holy shit," Telford said. "So—why _Jackson_?"

Rush leaned back against the wall, his eyes shut. "It's a good question. Better I think than even you realize."

"You're such a condescending bastard, Nick," Telford remarked, without any real rancor.

Rush smiled faintly.

Young frowned.

Rush cracked his eyes open to look over at Telford. "Previously, before it rewrote its own code, it would never have been able to change appearance. It would have appeared always as the doctor because that's who it _was_. But now—it has no inherent template on which it can base its interactions with the crew. So it takes the form and mannerisms of someone from the mind of whomever it is trying to communicate with. Lately, however, it's stuck with Dr. Jackson. Something about Daniel must—suit it." He shut his eyes again.

Young wasn't sure which one of them the headache that throbbed through his temples belonged to.

He narrowed his eyes at Rush, wondering how much sleep the man had actually gotten the previous night.

"I have something that I think might be useful," Telford said, turning to Young. "I was going to bring it up in the briefing but—" he shrugged. "I brought one of the Tok'ra memory recall devices with me from Earth. It can't target specific events, but it boosts recall generally—"

"Absolutely not," Young broke in. "Are you kidding me? He's already having flashbacks that he can barely control, and in case you didn't notice, he just fucking had one and the _lights_ were affected, which implies to me that they're disrupting more than just his mind."

"I think it's a good idea," Rush murmured.

"Of course you do. You're an idiot." Young snapped. "The memory device is off the table. Understood?"

"Yeah," Telford said, raising his hands, palm outward. "Understood. Just a suggestion."

"Rush," Young ground out.

Rush shrugged. "In any case, it seems the issue of forcing an intergalactic jump is more pressing. We can discuss this further at a later time point."

/It's not happening. Ever./

/You're overreacting./

"Fine," Young snapped. He turned to Telford. "We'll meet you at the chair room in—"

/Ninety minutes,/ Rush supplied.

"An hour and a half," Young finished. "Dismissed."

Telford shot him an irritated look but turned to go. He looked back over his shoulder. "Consider taking a fucking nap, Nick. You look like shit."

Rush shot him a disdainful look.

"He's right you know," Young growled. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

"No," Rush murmured.

"I know how the goddamn AI feels," he said, throwing up a hand. "What is your _problem,_ Rush?"

"_You_ are the one who is bent on creating problems here," Rush replied. "I have everything under control."

"I don't think you have any idea what 'control' means."

"I grant you," Rush said, looking vaguely amused, "that our definitions diverge wildly."

"Not sleeping is not a sustainable strategy."

"I realize that."

They faced each other silently.

The only sound in the corridor was the quiet hum the FTL drive that vibrated through the deck plating.

Young crossed his arms, making an effort to control his temper. Backing Rush into a corner was a strategy he'd used in the past and always, _always_ with disastrous results.

Slowly he felt Rush link up with his thoughts.

Compared to how it had been less than an hour ago, the difference in the texture of his thoughts was startling. His entire mind was a bright, disorganized flurry of images and concepts that seemed to bear little relation to one another.

/What are you thinking?/ Rush projected at him carefully. /I can't tell./

Young smiled faintly. /Nice to know that I'm equally incomprehensible to _you. _I'm trying to figure out how to avoid pissing you off./

"Mmm," Rush said, giving him a fleeting half smile. "Difficult to do."

"No kidding," Young replied. They were quiet for a moment while Young formulated his plan of attack. "So," he said finally. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Can we not indulge your obsession with confrontation right now? You can question the shit out of me _after_ I get out of the chair."

"I should be so lucky. You're pretty useless when you come out of that thing. Talkative, yes. Informative, no."

Rush looked away.

Young felt like he had at least a partial idea of what was going on.

He'd noticed that both Eli and Wray were having a difficult time sleeping and he was certain the dreams and the flashbacks that were affecting both of them were orders of magnitude worse for Rush. He'd witnessed it himself—he was pulling Rush out of flashbacks roughly four or five times per day, and he'd pulled him out of some fairly horrific dreams.

None of this had previously prevented Rush from sleeping.

Maybe it was just that Rush had recovered enough that this kind of behavior was an option.

Or maybe—maybe it was something else.

He needed to gather some data.

"Come on," he said, turning back into the conference room. "Lets get your stuff."

He turned, not bothering to look back at Rush, and was rewarded with a nearly palpable release of tension in the tone of the other man's thoughts.

"So," he said conversationally, as he shut Rush's laptop, then sat down next to it on the edge of the table. "How long have you been awake?" He kept his body language as casual as possible.

Rush deftly inserted the toe of his boot beneath his crutch and kicked it up into his hand.

"Nice," Young said, raising his eyebrows.

"Thank you," Rush replied.

"So since you're not really inclined to answer my question, I'm going to assume that you've been awake since I last saw you sleep, which was fifty-four hours ago."

"That's an accurate approximation, yes."

"_Why_?"

"I have to bring them forward. The memories from Destiny."

"And sleep deprivation is helpful _how_?"

"It weakens my control."

"So, you're not actually trying to _avoid_ the flashbacks, you're trying to _promote_ them?"

"Correct."

Young sighed, reaching up to rub his jaw. "Rush," he said, trying to keep everything he was feeling out of his voice. "_Nick_—"

"Stop," Rush snapped. "_There are no other options. _Or do you remain _willfully_ _incapable _of understanding that?"

"Is it too much to ask that you damn well _involve_ me in what you're trying to do? Our brains are _linked_ for god's sake. I'm having these damn flashbacks as well—the only difference is that I have insight into the fact that they're flashbacks. I still have to experience all of that fucked up _shit_ that you have in that head of yours, which is not a good time for me, let me tell you. I just want you to _talk_ to me."

Again, something about Young's words, or demeanor, or appearance seemed to derail Rush's gathering irritation and he gave Young another pained half-smile, their eyes meeting briefly.

"Don't let the fact that we're sleeping together go to your head."

"Don't worry," Young said dryly. "I'm under no illusions that you in any way give a damn about me."

It came out harsher than he had intended. Rush flinched. Then, almost immediately, he straightened, his thoughts pulling together into something hard and crystalline and he shook his hair back.

"Good," he said icily. "I'll see you in ninety minutes." He reached forward, lifting his laptop from the table and tucking it under his arm in one smooth movement before turning on his heel and walking out of the conference room.

Young sat in silence, not entirely sure what had just happened.

"Shit," he whispered quietly.

* * *

><p>Young leaned against the back wall of the chair room, his arms crossed over his chest, watching Eli, Volker, and a few members of Telford's team chatting idly next to monitors while they waited for Rush. The remainder of the science team was on the bridge, preparing to facilitate the coming intergalactic jump.<p>

"Well, where the hell _is_ he?" Telford snapped, turning toward Young.

"Don't look at me," Young growled. "I'm not his god damned baby-sitter."

Telford shot him a sharp look.

Young glared back at him.

Greer, who had taken up a position at Young's shoulder between him and the door, glanced over at him with a frown. "Want me to go looking for him, sir?"

"Don't bother," Young said.

He held out for nearly five more minutes before he finally gave in to the temptation to link his thoughts up with Rush.

Carefully he moved in on the scientist's consciousness and the room around him faded to be replaced with—well, Young wasn't sure exactly what he was looking at.

Rush was on his back, half inside a bulkhead, his hands extended up into open circuitry that glowed a subtle blue where he touched it. His hands weren't moving. His mind was following the oscillations of a component of Destiny's life support controls, cycling endlessly through loops of negative and positive feedback.

He hadn't fully joined with the ship but his connection with his physical body had faded.

His mind was still.

Rush wasn't interpreting what he was seeing—no memories churned just beneath his surface thoughts. He was simply _there_, thoughts quiet, meditative. He was unaware of his surroundings, unaware of the passage of time, unaware of Young's intrusion.

Young tried to fight down the pained, raw feeling that flowered in his chest.

There was something ominous and inevitable in the soft glow that appeared where Rush's hands met Destiny's raw circuitry.

/Rush,/ he sent, unable to keep his projection entirely steady. /Don't _do_ this./

Rush's consciousness returned in a slow wave, flooding into Young's mind with a surge of nonverbal reassurance. Rush pulled his hands back from the circuitry and it faded into blackness.

/What the _hell_ are you doing?/ Young projected.

/Sorry,/ Rush sent back his thoughts still quiet. /I was practicing. I didn't think you would notice./

/Practicing _what_?/ Young snapped, his worry rapidly giving way to irritation.

/Meditating?/ Rush was uncoordinatedly pulling himself out of the wall in his quarters.

/Since when do _you_ meditate?/

/The AI thinks it's a good idea,/ Rush replied, finally managing to extricate himself from the bulkhead.

/Oh well if the _AI_ thinks so,/ Young snapped at him.

/You don't approve, I take it,/ Rush said, his tone gaining focus as he made it to his feet, crutch in hand.

There was a cast to his thoughts that Young couldn't entirely identify.

His projection felt—careful. Deliberately soothing.

Young made an effort to get his anxiety under control.

/Meditating, I'm fine with. Go do fucking _yoga_ with Chloe. What you were just doing was _not_ meditating./

/Yes it was, I just went a bit farther than I intended. Am I late?/ There was no mistaking it—Rush was actually trying to project a sense of calm at him.

/Yes. You are more than fifteen minutes late. Get down here./ Young took a deep breath. /Also, is it too much to ask that for _half_ _a day_ you just—don't do anything completely horrifying?/

/Maybe tomorrow,/ Rush said dryly. /Though I would say that today really hasn't been so bad, all things considered./

/I've been awake for less than three hours and you've had a flashback from Destiny that the AI deflected into something equally disturbing, if not more so, I found out your subconscious mind has merged with the AI, and _then_ I find you interfacing with the _wall_ directly? Damn it, Rush./

/Yes well. No one is happy with me right now./ Rush shook his hair back and exited his quarters.

/What is _that _supposed to mean?/

Rush sighed. /Nevermind./

/Is there any way we can pull off this jump _without_ you sitting in the chair?/

/Only if you don't mind the possibility of losing power somewhere in the intergalactic void./ Rush sent dryly.

/No need to be a smart-ass about it,/ Young replied. /I was just _asking_. Am I going to have to teach you English again?/

/In all likelihood, no. This should be fairly straightforward./

/Sure./

It took Rush less than five minutes to reach the neural interface room. He came through the doorway and paused just inside the room to lock eyes with Young.

Rush cocked his head slightly.

Young rolled his eyes in response.

Rush smirked at him and then transferred his gaze over to Eli.

"Parati sumus?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah, so English is fun too, you know?" Eli said in response. "But yes. Whenever you are."

"Let me see," Rush said, indicating the console. Eli stepped aside.

"Where the hell were _you_?" Telford snapped, approaching Rush.

"Taking a _nap_," Rush said absently, his eyes scanning the screen.

"Right," Telford replied sarcastically.

/Don't bait Telford,/ Young snapped at him.

/I'm not baiting him. I'm _lying_ to him./

/Badly./

/Are you _jealous_?/

/No./

Rush's eyes flicked up to meet his briefly—dark and intense and _amused_—before dropping back to the monitor.

"So," Telford said impatiently. "Are we ready?"

"Yeah," Eli said, raising both hands, palms open.

"Yes," Rush added after a few seconds, his tone clipped. He looked up at Young.

Young looked back at him. It took a few seconds for him to realize that Rush was waiting.

Waiting for _him_.

_That _was new.

"Whenever," he said, gesturing toward the chair.

Rush handed his crutch to Eli and approached the chair. When he got within five feet of it, the lights in the room dimmed and the base of the chair lit up with an anticipatory blue glow. Rush didn't alter his stride at the change, just pivoted neatly and turned to sit down.

Young couldn't help but wince as the restraints snapped into place.

Rush sent him a wave of reassurance that cut off abruptly as the neural interface device engaged, dragging his consciousness away into the darkness of the ship.

"Things are looking good," Eli said quietly, after about thirty seconds, his eyes on the monitors. "He's plotting our course—I _think_."

"Interesting," one of Telford's people piped up—a Sgt. Allen who Young hadn't said more than two words to.

"What?" Telford snapped.

"His EEG readings have drastically altered."

"Um, yeah," Eli said sharply. "Not that surprising if you think about it."

"No," Allen replied. "The interesting part is that his EEG patterns are a dead match for the power fluctuations in the CPU. Down to the nanosecond. That can't be a coincidence."

Eli and Young locked eyes.

"Agreed," Telford said, as he rapidly walked over to peer at Allen's console.

From somewhere near the back of the room, Young heard the quiet click of a lighter.

He took a deep breath, looking at Rush, still locked in the neural interface device.

He didn't turn.

Behind him, he could hear its quiet, measured steps.

"This is all old news to you," it said, drawing even with him.

Young glanced subtly to his left.

It stood next to him, hair short, square-framed glasses on, wearing a high collared black jacket, cigarette in hand. It gave him Rush's twisted half-smile. When it spoke, its voice was dark and amused, wrapping ruinously through the air and through his mind.

"What do you say we get the fuck out of here?"


	34. Chapter 34

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Fanart for this chapter**: Has been done by the epically-talented tanyanevidimka! Head over to her tumblr account and look for post 18270722320.

**Additional notes:** Many overdue thanks to Elaiel for support and advice regarding several chapters of FoD. Also, thanks to everyone for the reviews! You guys are ever-fantastic. This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>Young made a concerted effort not to look at Rush's projection.<p>

The AI's projection.

Whatever it was that haunted the edges of vision.

Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest, letting his eyes drift over Greer, TJ, Telford, and Eli. No one was looking at him—their gazes were fixed on monitors, on mid-air displays, on each other.

The room was dim, glazed in blue light.

"If you think you're capable of ignoring me," it said, pouring Rush's liquid diction into the silence, "then by all means, persist."

It paced forward a few steps until it was directly in front of Young—dark jacket, dark hair, darker eyes.

It fixed him with a steady, unbreakable gaze.

"I assure you," it continued quietly, "that you will be—" it stepped in. "Unsuccessful."

The word was barely audible other than the hard breaks of the consonants and _god_, if Rush's scrutiny had been difficult to withstand _before_ it was nothing to what Young was experiencing now. Its eyes were a barely obscured blaze, a window into something deep and powerful—more than any one person should be able to contain.

He swallowed and attempted to look away.

He failed.

/I'm not, ah, ignoring you,/ he projected at it. /Just—give me a minute./

In the back of his mind its consciousness seethed like dark paint streaked through with broad, unincorporated swaths of color. Its thoughts were much closer, much more overpowering than anything he'd felt from it when they had been together in the neural interface device.

It was, he supposed, more intensely Rush.

It held his gaze until it chose to look away, releasing him.

He cleared his throat and turned in Eli's direction.

"Do you—" he broke off as his vocal cords seized into stillness. "Do you, ah, _need_ me for anything right now?"

He locked eyes with Eli, resolutely _not_ looking at the magnetic, flawless version of Rush that was standing less than three feet away from him.

"Um," Eli said, "are you okay? You look kind of—weird."

At Eli's comment, TJ turned to look at him, her eyes widening subtly as she took in whatever was written on his face. "I'm fine," he said. Even to him, the words sounded strained.

"Are you," Rush said archly. "You don't look it."

TJ stepped towards him.

"I'm _fine_," Young repeated, his voice coming out somewhat breathless despite his best efforts. He held a hand toward her, palm out. "I've just—I've got to go."

"But—" TJ said, her eyes flicking toward the neural interface chair.

"I know," he mouthed at her, backing toward the door, as the combined projection of Rush and the AI shadowed his progress in an evolving spiral. "I'll be back. Radio if you need me."

"I—um, okay," TJ said, as he backed through the doorway into the deserted corridor.

Young set off down the corridor heading away from heavily populated areas into one of the less trafficked regions of the ship.

It walked beside him, matching his velocity. The corridor lights flared as they passed, both overhead and at the bases of the walls, pulsing in time with its silent footfalls.

Young was hyperaware of every aspect of it—from its gait down to the way the lights reflected over the metal rims of its square framed glasses.

It was much, _much,_ too close to him.

"Can you, ah—_back off_, a little bit?" Young said, once they were clear of any populated areas. "Or um, tone yourself down, or _something_?"

He felt the press of its thoughts against his own, obscure and dense and inviting.

As compelling as gravity.

Of course, _of course,_ his question seemed to do nothing but encourage it, its gait smoothing to a preternatural, predatory grace.

"You're clearly unsettled by this," it said, sounding amused, "though I'm not certain what you expected. Surely you must have realized that meeting me again in this manner was inevitable."

"Aren't you supposed to be plotting a course or—or _something_?"

"Oh, I am, I assure you. But like this I have processing power to spare. So."

It took a fluid drag of its cigarette.

"You're not Rush," Young snapped at it.

"Yes well. Let's skip your requisite denial of both my perceived identity and my right to exist, shall we? You don't mind if I alter your perception of this corridor, do you?"

"If you _what_?"

In a wave, the hallway ahead of Young dissolved into an open, tree-lined path lit by the slanting rays of late afternoon sun. The half-clouded sky was a dark backdrop against which yellow leaves stood out in bright relief, lit by the sun at their backs.

It was autumn.

The air felt cool.

Crisp, even.

"What the _hell_?" Young said, and though he had intended to lace the question with a certain amount of indignation, none of it managed to come through.

"Oxford Botanical Gardens," it said, answering the question he hadn't asked.

The sun brightened the cast of its hair and sharpened the clean lines of its subtly unfamiliar jacket, dark against the light that suffused the gravel path.

"Rush, you can't just alter my perception while I'm walking down a corridor."

"And yet evidence would indicate otherwise," it replied. "You exhibit a proclivity for disproportionate suspicion when I'm _nice to you_," it said, pulling out the last three words like molten metal.

Young took a deep breath.

"I'm not sure I understand the psychological underpinnings of that tendency, but I'm perfectly content to give you the corridor back if you insist."

The planar darkness of the hall began to fade in as an overlay.

"Wait," Young said. "That's um—not necessary."

"It does get monotonous with time, does it not?"

It blended the autumn afternoon back in.

"Yeah," Young said quietly, as he watched the light play over Rush's hair. "A bit. I miss the sun sometimes."

"Mmm," Rush agreed, looking up through the leaves.

He was quiet for a moment, and Young took the opportunity to marshal his thoughts, determined not to let the thing's unmistakable appeal have any material effect on him.

"Of course," Young said quietly, "in order to _miss_ the sun, one has to have _seen_ it. Which in your case—" Young trailed off, watching him.

"Everett." It gave him a pained half smile. "Fuck off, will you?" It took another lithe drag from its cigarette.

Young shoved his hands into his pockets. "You're very like him."

Rush walked away from him, moving to sit on one of the wooden benches that lined the path. He flicked his cigarette away and it vanished from existence mid-arc.

After a few seconds, Young came to sit beside him.

"So, where is it that we're sitting exactly?" he said finally.

"You're sitting alone in an unlit conference room talking to yourself."

"And you're going to tell me if someone comes, right?"

"If you're lucky," Rush said dryly.

Silence fell between them for a moment.

An occasional breeze stirred the canopy above them, delicately separating leaves from their branches, tormenting them as they fell.

"What the hell are we doing here?" Young asked finally.

"I want you to know who I am." It spoke slowly.

"You mean _what _you are."

It sighed. "I want you to look at my mind."

"I've seen your mind. In the neural interface chair. You're _not_ _him_. You're just not."

"That was different," It said. "We weren't fully blended then, it was an atypical—"

"I don't _care_," Young snapped, interrupting him. "I don't need to look at your mind to know what you are."

"You don't _want _to," it clarified.

"You're damn right I don't want to. You're something _artificial_. Some weird existential problem that I never expected I'd have to face, and if I could, I'd do everything in my power to make sure you _never_ come into existence _again_." The message was brutal, but his tone was soft.

It leaned forward, its hands braced against the edge of the bench, its shoulders hunched, like he'd _hurt _it.

Like it was capable of suffering.

And Rush, _Rush_ was never like this—Rush fought to keep anyone from knowing that anything ever touched him.

Rush's shoulders were never hunched—they were straight.

Always.

"Fine," it said quietly. "That's your prerogative, I suppose." It glanced at Young and its eyes left a scorching trail in their wake as they slid away again. "You won't be successful," it murmured. "I am—" it broke off, sweeping its hair back with one hand, "an inevitability."

"I'm taking him _back_," Young growled.

"Do that, and you kill four people, including me. Him."

Young looked away. "What's your plan?"

"You just told me thirty seconds ago that you want to obliterate me from existence. You think I'm going to tell you my plan?" It gave him Rush's pained half-smile again, its eyes mercifully half-hidden behind its hair.

"Then why are we here?" Young asked.

"We're here because I want to help you," it said quietly.

Young stopped himself from asking why.

He knew why.

"You feel guilty," he said, unable to keep a ribbon of accusation from slicing through his words.

"Yes," it said, with bleak serenity. "But not in the way you imagine. Not for the reasons you think I should." It didn't look at Young.

Silence fell.

The wind tore delicately through the leaves overhead.

"You said you wanted to help me," Young said finally. "So help."

"Leave me alone," Rush said quietly. "Leave me to Telford. Let _him_ help me."

"Let him destroy the _actual_ Nicholas Rush, you mean?" Young smiled grimly. "You would just love that, wouldn't you? You must know that there's not a chance in hell of that happening."

"Fuck you. I _am_ Rush."

"Fuck _you_. You're not. You're _not_. He would never talk to me like this. He would never _look_ like you do, do you understand me?"

"Correct," Rush whispered. "He can't do this. He's such a wreck it's a bloody miracle he can do _anything_. But—he would very much like to—to talk to you. To tell you that he _does_ give a damn about you. That he wishes that you weren't so determined on turning yourself into collateral damage."

"Try to be a little bit more cryptic, if you can," Young said sarcastically. "What exactly are you trying to prevent?"

"Your death," it said.

"Well, I'm trying to prevent _your_ death. _His_ death. Whatever."

"That's not what you're trying to do," it said. "You're trying to preserve him as he is." Rush tipped his head back, looking up at the leaves. "Which is untenable. Which will result in the permanent stranding of your crew on the Destiny. Which will doom the AI to remain incomplete until its destruction. Which is also—" and he turned back to fix Young with his impossible eyes, "extremely cruel."

"To whom?" Young asked, forcing the words out through vocal chords that were nearly paralyzed. "Him? Or _you_?"

"We're the same," Rush said, "in the most important ways."

"So you want _what_?"

"Disentangle yourself. Let me do what's required. Don't get in the way."

"No," Young said, unable to keep a note of despair from creeping into his tone. "Absolutely not."

Rush shot to his feet, pacing away from Young, one hand flung out in disgust or distress. "You're impossible."

"And you're an _idiot_. In every form that you take."

Rush turned back to face him, tearing his glasses off, his voice rising. "I will destroy you. Do you understand that? I will destroy you _utterly_. Not the AI, not Destiny, not Telford. Me." It gestured at its own chest with a graceful curve of its hand. "_Him_, if you prefer. Nicholas Rush will raze your consciousness to the ground and by the time you realize what I've done it will be _too late_."

"I don't care," Young said mildly.

"You don't _care_?" it repeated.

"Nope," Young said.

"Well _I_ fucking care." Its voice was raw and it fixed him again with its unbearable gaze.

"Yeah, I can see that."

"You're holding me back," it whispered, tearing its eyes away, turning away from him.

"You're damn right I am," Young replied, the words barely audible.

"You have to let me go."

The wind hissed through the leaves overhead, tearing them from the dark branches of the trees.

"No," Young said carefully. "The two of us?" he said, pausing until Rush looked back at him obliquely. "We'll never be done. Never."

It folded gracefully to the gravel, covering its face.

Young's vision darkened as the botanic gardens flickered, replaced momentarily by a conference room that was cold and dim and empty save for the two of them—him sitting on a bench and Rush on the floor, his legs folded beneath him, his face in his hands.

"Come on," Young said, sliding down to the floor.

He reached out, but his hands found only empty air.

The gardens flared intermittently back into his mind like a slow strobe, cycling between gold and blue, between wind and the silence of still air.

"Nick."

"Go back," it whispered, refusing to look at him. "Go back. Get out of my sight."

"Nick," he said again, and as he spoke, the gardens, which had briefly stabilized, shattered apart into glittering fragments.

They did not reappear.

Rush was barely visible, his edges subsumed as his clothes and hair blurred into the darkness of the room.

"_Nick_," he said, for the third time. "You're _fading_."

Rush did not look at him.

"Why can't I touch you?" he whispered. "It wasn't like this last time."

"The neural interface facilitates many things."

"But if I can see you, and hear you, why can't I touch you?" Young asked, desperate to keep him present, to keep him talking, to halt his slow diminishment into nothing.

"It's a failsafe built into the programming of the AI and so, of course, it constrains me too."

Rush reached out, extending a semi-transparent hand to nearly meet Young's open palm, stopping a few centimeters away. They moved forward carefully, until their hands appeared to be apposed.

Young could feel the faintest suggestion of solidity beneath his fingers, his skin tingling at points of contact.

"Not very satisfying, is it?" Rush whispered. "Comparatively speaking."

"Not really," Young said, his voice low and quiet as he watched as some of the transparency leave Rush's hand.

"I'm nearly done plotting the course," Rush whispered. "You should go back."

"In a minute," Young murmured.

Rush shut his eyes, pulling his hand away. "I wish I formed memories only of this time. When we're combined. I wish I didn't remember the rest. I wish I didn't know."

"But then," Young said, struggling against the tightness in his throat. "Who would mastermind this whole operation?"

Rush smiled faintly. "Go," it whispered. "Go and tear me apart."

"Don't be so dramatic," Young said, fighting the fracturing of his expression and thoughts. "You're the one who's going to win in the end, it seems like."

"I wouldn't put it that way," it said, turning to look at Young.

Hastily, Young looked away before Rush's excruciating eyes could pin him to the floor.

"Do you know anything about this tracking device?" he asked, desperate to change the subject.

"No," it whispered. "I've looked for it, but I can't detect it."

"And doesn't that worry you?"

"An unusually perceptive question. Yes. It worries me a great deal. Specifically I'm concerned that the tracking device may have been integrated with my own hardware to prevent my ability to detect it."

Young couldn't help the grimace that that comment produced.

"What's the story with this doctor?"

"I am—unsure. I believe that something traumatic happened to the original AI. Something disturbing enough that it attempted to overwrite everything related to the incident in question." It pressed its hands to the deck plating.

"How is that a rational response?" Young asked.

"It's not," Rush murmured. "But consider that for the AI—memories do not fade with time, as they do for humans. They remain always immediate. Grief, fear, pain—they never lose their acuity. Consider also that it is—unable to turn itself off. It's unable to terminate its own programming."

"So it _erased _this guy because it couldn't handle his emotions?"

"No, Everett. Almost certainly he erased _himself_." Rush looked away.

"Fuck," Young said, rubbing his jaw. "Is there any chance of the same thing happening to _you_?"

"No," Rush said. "Not in the short term."

"Great. I feel so reassured," Young replied dryly.

Silence fell between them for a moment.

"They're going to radio you," Rush said, voice dull, gaze distant.

Young's radio crackled.

"Hey colonel, it's Eli. It looks like everything is done. Our course is altered and our trajectory is taking us straight out of this galaxy. So um, you know, maybe you want to come up here now? Do that thing that you do?"

He looked at Rush, or whatever it was, exactly, that was still sitting on the floor, its legs folded under it, its hands against the metal deck plating, its head bowed.

"I'm on my way," Young said quietly into the radio.

It didn't look at him.

"You um—" Young began quietly, "You want to come?"

"No," it whispered.

"Does it—" he swallowed. "When I pull you out, does it hurt you?"

"Yes," it said, its voice inaudible. "More every time."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"I know," it replied. "I know you are."

"Is there a way that I can do it that wouldn't—"

"Quickly. As quickly as you can."

"Fuck," Young whispered. "Nick, I—"

"Don't call me that," it said, still not looking at him. "It's not who you believe I am."

"Look—I'm—"

"Go. Stop prolonging this."

"Okay," Young said inaudibly. "Okay."

He got to his feet, still watching it. It was blurring into the dark again.

He turned away, blinking rapidly as he walked toward the door, leaving it there, fading out on the floor.

As he made his way back to the chair room, Destiny's lights flared faintly for him.

He was certain that had never happened before.

TJ was waiting for him just outside the door, her eyes directed watchfully into the room as he rounded the corner, the overhead lights gleaming off her hair. Her arms were crossed.

There was something about her appearance that was reassuring.

Grounding.

"Hey," she said quietly, as he approached. "Are you all right?" Her hands came up to his shoulders, steadying him.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah, TJ. I'm okay."

"You look—upset."

"I'm not upset," he said.

Her mouth quirked into a sad smile that failed to reach her eyes, but she nodded, letting him have the lie. "I just wanted to give you a heads up. Telford's team has him hooked up to an EEG. I authorized it—I think it would be helpful to have as a baseline, it just looks pretty intense so I wanted to warn you."

Young nodded.

"They're going to take readings as you pull him out and ideally for about five minutes after, so if you can keep him from moving too much, that would be best."

"Sure. Fine."

Young brushed past her into the room, stopping short as he took in Rush, electrodes buried in his hair, locked into the neural interface device.

"Hey," Eli said, cautiously. He dropped his voice slightly. "Are you okay?

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Young growled.

"Maybe because you look like someone shot your dog," Telford snapped, moving in on their conversation. "Are you going to pull him out, or _what_?"

"Yeah," Young snapped back, looking over at the panel that had lowered from the side of the chair, waiting for him, trying not to think about what he had to do. He turned to glare at Telford. "Yeah, I'm going to pull him out."

He walked forward, toward the chair.

Toward the panel.

In the back of his mind he could feel Rush, feel _it_, recede away from him, trying to still the restless energy of its own thoughts, trying to crystalize into something it wasn't, trying to—trying to—

To think of ice.

God.

His hand was on the panel, cold and smooth as obsidian under his fingers.

Immediately he found Rush's mind, mapped out its borders, and prepared to tear it away from the shadows it was entangled with.

Briefly, _briefly_, he looked into the dark.

He had to know.

He could see a dark stability behind the brilliant façade that he was about to tear away—a blending of dark and light into something strong and ordered and passionate and impulsive—something that had no defense against the psychic rending he was about to inflict.

No defense at all.

As quickly, as precisely, as he could, he tore it apart.

The restraints snapped open, and Rush slammed into his mind along with the ubiquitous headache that had always accompanied his use of the chair.

No mystery where _that_ came from.

Not anymore.

Clearly it was the result of the trauma that came with unmaking a mind.

It had said—

It had said it was painful.

"Hey," Young said, leaning forward in front of Rush, trying to school his features into a neutral expression. "You with us?"

He could feel Rush attempting to order his mind, trying to process the overwhelming wave of sensory input that assaulted him.

"Quid tibi accidit?" Rush asked, reaching up toward the electrodes attached to his head.

"You always ask that," Young said, grabbing his hand and pulling it away from his head. "Please tell me you still speak English."

"Try to get him to sit still," Telford said, looking over Allen's shoulder at what was presumably their EEG data.

"Yes," Rush said, his voice inflecting bizarrely with the Ancient accent. "I still speak English."

"Why—" he reached up with his other hand toward his head.

"Why all the wires?" Young asked, grabbing his other hand as well before he could touch anything. "We're doing an EEG on you. Measuring brainwaves, I guess."

"Mmm," Rush said. "Data."

"Yeah. You people like that stuff."

"Did we alter course?" Rush asked.

"Yeah. Heading out of the galaxy as we speak."

Rush nodded.

"Stay still," Young said quietly.

"What happened to you?" Rush asked, a hint of his normal accent already beginning to become apparent. "Tu triste videtur."

"English, genius. English."

"Can't you just fucking learn Ancient?" Rush murmured, his eyes half closing. "You seem—" He broke off and Young could feel him searching for the word he wanted. "Upset."

"I'm fine," Young murmured. "I'm fine. I just—don't like this."

Reflexively, Rush pulled his right hand out of Young's grip, bringing it to his temple. Young pulled it away again.

"Stay still," he said quietly.

"Right. Sum paenitet. I just—I have a headache."

"I know you do, Nick," Young whispered. "I know you do."

* * *

><p>The remainder of the evening passed in an exhausting blur.<p>

Following Rush's use of the chair, he had dropped the scientst and TJ off at his own quarters while he and Telford discussed what would be put in the report they were drafting for Homeworld Command.

He had hoped that TJ would be able to convince Rush to sleep, but from the painful swirl of thoughts that rose and ebbed in the background of his mind, it seemed as if Rush was very much awake.

He could tell from the intermittent images that intruded on his consciousness that around nineteen hundred hours, TJ had been replaced by Eli and Chloe, and that the three of them seemed to be going over quantum mechanics problem sets.

"So, just to clarify," Telford said, leaning his head against his hand, "We're reporting that we're trusting that _Rush_ is going to find this thing for us by doing some kind of psychic communion thing with the _ship_? They aren't going to like that."

Young sighed. "I know. Maybe we can get Eli to come up with something that sounds plausible."

"Yeah, or maybe we can actually get him to _do_ something that's plausible. Look, I don't think Rush is going to be able to pull this out of the CPU. Not without the Tok'ra device. You heard what the AI said. It _erased_ the entire thing."

"The device is _off the table_, David. At least for now."

"Can I ask _why_?" Telford said carefully.

"We have no idea how he's going to react to it."

"It's been tested multiple times. Under extremely high-stakes conditions. It couldn't be more perfect for something like this. There's no reason to think—"

"I said _no_," Young said.

The looked at each other.

"He's less than half," Telford said quietly.

"What?"

"That's what you said. During the Nakai attack. After I gave him the Ativan. He's _less than half._" Telford looked at him, his eyes shadowed. "Less than half _what_, Everett?"

"That's on a need to know basis, colonel," Young ground out, "and you don't need to know."

"Human," Telford said quietly. "_He's less than half human_. His EEG patterns match nothing we've got on file. I went over them with my team less than half an hour ago. It's unmistakable. He looks unlike _anything_ we've ever seen before."

Young looked at him steadily.

"So what is he then?" Telford hissed. "Machine? Ancient? _Nakai_?"

Young said nothing.

"Answer me, damn it," Telford said. "I have as much invested here as you do. Maybe more."

"I find that hard to believe," Young said. "But—" he broke off, looking away, unable to see a way out of answering Telford's question. "Ancient. He's over sixty percent Ancient. He was modified by the chair. He's infected with a virus that's killing him even as it changes him further."

"_Killing _him?" Telford echoed sharply.

"Yes." Young said shortly.

"Doesn't sound very efficient, does it?" Telford murmured.

"Not really, no." Young said.

"So that's why you don't want him to use the Tok'ra device? Because you don't know how he'll react to it?"

"That's _one _reason," Young said quietly.

"We could start slowly," Telford said, his voice low and intense. "Plus, who knows what else we might uncover regarding—"

"I _said_," Young growled, leaning forward. "_No._ I thought I had made myself _clear_."

"Fine," Telford said, holding up his hands. "Fine."

"Are we finished?" Young snapped.

"Yeah," Telford said. "Except—"

"Except _what_?" Young snapped, getting to his feet.

"Except I went by his quarters last night and he wasn't there. Not sure what he's doing at night, but I thought—" Telford paused significantly. "I thought you might want to know."

Young gave Telford a hard look. "Thanks," he said shortly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He turned his back on the other man and paced out of the room.

It was only a matter of time before Telford made his move.

Young was nearly certain that Telford would get little or no support from the crew of Destiny, so he wasn't overly concerned about the possibility of an outright mutiny on his hands.

What _did_ concern him, however, was Rush.

Telford and Rush had what appeared to be a complicated history and the scientist seemed to vacillate between loathing for the other man and—well, Young didn't know what exactly. Respect? Admiration?

Fuck.

_Fuck_.

He let his thoughts brush against Rush's consciousness, allowing the bright yellow light of his own quarters to fade into his mind.

"Chloe," Rush snapped. "First, show that the derivative of p(x) is normalized. Only _then_ do you try to calculate the average position. Stop cutting corners."

"You realize I majored in _political science_, right?" Chloe asked.

"At least you _had_ a major. That puts you one step ahead of Eli."

"Thanks," Eli said dryly. "Thanks for that. Do you ever feel guilty about being _such an asshole_?"

/Be nice to them,/ Young said.

/I _am_ being nice,/ Rush replied, his projection wavering with exhaustion.

/Be _nicer,_ then./

Rush sighed. "Chloe. You're making this more difficult than it needs to be. Just—graph the thing, will you? That would be perfectly adequate."

"Really? What about demonstrating that it fits the criteria for a normal distribution?"

"That would be _preferred_, but since neither of you made it through Math Chapter B, there's not much you can do, in a formal mathematical sense without that kind of background."

"Yeah, and why are there separate physics chapters and math chapters anyway?" Eli said. "That just seems cruel."

"You'll be grateful for them in the end," Rush said, leaning his head on one hand.

/Why don't you kick them out?/ Young projected at him. /I'm almost back, and you're exhausted./

"_Maybe_," Eli said, his eyes narrowing.

"I liked math chapter A," Chloe said.

"Of course you did," Rush replied.

"I thought it was quaint," Chloe said.

"_Quaint_?" Eli echoed. "You're such a cheater anyway. With all your alien math knowledge."

Chloe looked away.

"Get out of here, both of you," Rush sighed, shutting his eyes against a sudden stab from his headache. "Chapter three and math chapter B by tomorrow night."

"Yeah yeah," Eli said, good-naturedly, glancing edgily at Chloe.

Chloe said nothing.

/You're just going to let that slide?/ Young asked him.

/No,/ Rush said. /I'm not. Give me five minutes./

/You've got ten,/

/Magnanimity suits you,/ Rush projected dryly.

Young rolled his eyes and slowed his pace, turning off at the observation deck.

It was deserted.

The streaming blue blur of FTL flickered over the benches that lined the space in front of the window. Young sat down and looked at the smearing starscape, keeping a delicate connection with Rush's thoughts.

"Chloe," Rush said. "Wait a moment."

Eli looked up, his expression curious and Rush narrowed his eyes in his direction, shaking his head subtly.

Chloe carefully folded her papers in half, not looking at either of them.

"Um, see ya," Eli said, as he headed toward the door.

"Is this about the long range sensors?" Chloe asked, her head coming up, her chin raised. "Because I would have finished the recalibration if—"

"No," Rush said, breaking in. "It's not about the long range sensors."

She held his gaze briefly, then looked back down at the papers under her hands.

Neatly scripted problems covered the pages, their precision suggesting that they had been recopied.

"It isn't cheating," Rush said quietly, after the door had swished shut behind Eli.

Chloe said nothing.

"It's not," he repeated.

"It is," she said, not looking up.

Young wasn't sure whether the abrupt synchronized wash of sympathy in his mind had come from himself, or from Rush.

"It _is_," Chloe continued. "I didn't acquire this knowledge. It was _given_ to me. I wasn't born with these abilities. I didn't acquire them through effort. I _received_ them. Artificially."

"I see," he said quietly.

"Do you?" she asked.

They regarded each other, eyes locked.

"Maybe you do," Chloe said finally.

Rush looked away.

"You paid a price for your abilities," Rush said. "An unconventional price, granted, but a steep one."

"Yes," Chloe said, "but—"

"No." Rush held up a hand. "You took what they gave you, and you made it your own. You did not let them take it back from you. You've added to it. You're adding to it _now_," he said, his eyes flicking down at her neatly scripted formulas, "by your own initiative."

Chloe looked away.

"Chloe," Rush said insistently. "It's important you understand this."

"Why?"

"Because," he said, "you're exceptionally talented. Not because of what they gave you. Because of the way that what they gave you blended with _who you are_. Alone it's nothing—but you've put it to tremendous use. I hope that—that you'll continue to do so."

"Of course I will," she said quietly. "Of course."

"I hope that you would continue should you get off Destiny and go back to Earth," he said.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"You could—go to graduate school. In mathematics."

Something about her expression seemed to lighten. "I doubt I could get in anywhere," she said quietly. "I don't have much of a math background. On paper, that is."

"You'll get in anywhere you want to go," he said.

Young could feel the pained twist of his smile.

"Yeah," she said, looking at Rush in overt disbelief. "Sure."

"Trust me on that one," he said wryly.

"Well, I'll give it a shot," she said skeptically, "but, I think that Eli—"

"I sincerely doubt graduate school could handle Eli."

"Yeah," Chloe said, breaking into a real smile. "I'm with ya on that one."

"Off with you now," he said, waving his hand imperiously.

She stood, picking up her neat bundle of papers.

"Thanks, Dr. Rush," she said.

"Yes yes," he murmured. "I'll see you later. Calibrate those long range sensors."

Young pulled back partially from Rush's mind and stood, heading toward the door of the observation deck as he watched Chloe exit his quarters in the back of his mind.

/That was excellent by pretty much any standard./

/I'm aware of that,/ Rush said, curling his legs underneath him on the couch. /One can't lose them all,/ he projected back at Young.

/Did you eat dinner?/ Young asked.

/Tamara attempts to force me to consume three hundred calories every time she sees me as a matter of principle./

/So—is that a yes, then?/

/Yes. I ate. Are you coming back now?/

/Yeah,/ Young replied.

/Good,/ Rush sent back. /We need to work on pulling these memories forward./

/Are you kidding? You haven't slept in two days and you just came out of the neural interface. You're so exhausted that you can barely even project./

/I know. It's perfect,/ Rush said.

/We're not doing this until you _sleep_./

/Yes well. I'm _not sleeping_ until we do this./

Young sent him a wave of pure irritation, trying to keep even a hint of dread from creeping into his projection.

* * *

><p>"<em>A myrias hominum mortui sunt hic," he whispers, one hand over his mouth, as if he could choke back his own words. He steps forward, unsteady. How can anyone be steady when faced with this—with this— <em>

_He doesn't think he's breathing. _

_He can't tell what he's looking at, his mind refuses to interpret the sensory input it's getting, but he moves forward anyway, his tissue typing kit in his hands. _

"_Est quid est," his colleague says, gasping. "Est quid est. Est quid est. Est quid est." _

"_Conclude," he snaps, his vision wavering into fields of static. Nothing in their civilization has prepared them for this. Even during his training he had rarely seen death. He had _never_ seen decay. "Hoc est primum. Erit mauris." He steps forward. One step. Two. Three. His knees buckle, and he goes down next to something that will work. He thinks it might be an arm. He's not sure. He tries to make himself look closer, but he can't. He has to—he has to get used to this. He will be seeing more. Much more of it before—_

Young snapped them out of the memory and leaned forward, gritting his teeth against a wave of nausea and vertigo, trying to wipe the dead from his mind.

"Why did you _stop_?" Rush hissed, his voice hard, inhuman. "That was _him_. Finally. That was—ah _fuck_," and Young was suddenly getting dragged off the floor by his upper arms.

Without entirely realizing how he got there, Young found himself in the bathroom throwing up his dinner, which thankfully, had been nothing more complicated than gray paste.

"You're all right," Rush said quietly. "You're fine." Young could feel the gentle rhythmic press of the scientist's palm as he rubbed his hand along Young's spine.

"Fuck," Young breathed, when he could speak.

"Yes," Rush murmured. "I concur. One minute." He pulled away from Young only to return a few seconds later with a glass of water.

"And who the _hell_ are _you_ that you can just _watch_ all of that," Young snapped at him, getting unsteadily to his feet to spit water into the sink, "and not bat a fucking eyelash? A fucking professor of _mathematics_? Not _bloody likely_."

"Well," Rush said with a quiet tone and a sharp glance as he followed Young out of the bathroom. "Keep in mind that I've seen most of it already." He gave Young a twisted, humorless smile.

Young dropped into a seated position on the couch, noting with surprise that Rush came to perch on the edge of the low table directly across from him.

"No." Young snapped. "Absolutely not. We're not doing this again. Do you know how utterly fucking shit my day has been? Do you? I fucking wake up hung over, _then _I find out—I don't know, three of four fucking horrendous things in about the span of one hour, and then you fucking have to sit in the chair which you didn't even _warn _me about and that was not a good time for me, all right? Don't ask me, I don't want to talk about it. And then I have a fucking meeting with Telford and it just turns into a pissing contest every god damn time with that guy—I don't know what the fuck his problem is. And then I just want to fucking _go to bed_, but _no._ You fucking insist on just torturing the shit out yourself. Who _does_ that? So _then _for the past two hours I've been fucking interrogated by the Lucian Alliance, drowned a good five or six times, _woken up_ during fucking _heart_ _surgery_, been _mentally_ fucking tortured in various ways about eight or _nine_ times, witnessed fucking _kids_ dying by the truckload in some Ancient _school_, and followed our doctor friend into—I don't even _know_ what that was, some kind of mass morgue or mass grave or—so you can just fucking _piss off_. _Rush_."

Rush held his hands up, palms out, and gave him a pained half-smile. "You just used 'fucking' as a modifier twelve times in the past twenty seconds. That's a bit on the high side for you." Slowly, Rush reached forward, attempting to bring one hand against Young's temple.

"Don't _touch_ me," Young hissed.

"Fine," Rush said quietly, pulling back slightly. "Okay. There's just—there's something I need to fix."

Young looked at him sharply. "This is _you_. This is shit that _you _left behind coming forward again, isn't it?"

"It looks that way," Rush said quietly, his eyes dark and intensely concerned. "This is not ideal," he whispered. "You pulled it forward under duress. Apparently." He reached out again, and this time Young let Rush place his hand along the side of his temple, the scientist's thumb grazing over the skin there, his eyes moving rapidly as if he were scanning something that Young couldn't see.

"We have to bury this," Rush murmured, "so deep that you can't pull it forward."

"Yeah. I'm sure _that_ will work. Fucking fantastic plan, that one."

Rush cocked his head, looking half amused, half puzzled. "Hmm," he said.

"_What_?"Young snapped.

"It's just odd seeing you like this, is all."

Rush began to ebb into his mind and something about the cast of the overhead lighting seemed to brighten. /In any case, this will work. It _has_ to work,/ Rush projected, his tone wavering and painful against Young's thoughts. /So. When _you_ do this to _me_, what is it that you do, exactly?/

/I just—/ Young broke off, finding the intensity of Rush's gaze a nearly intolerable distraction.

/You just _what_?/ Rush projected, pushing away from the table, moving forward, closing the gap between them to straddle Young's lap.

/I just—kiss you until you can't maintain any of your barriers anymore and then I, ah, I reorder—/he broke off, as Rush pressed him back against the couch, settling his full weight against him.

He could feel his heart pounding wildly in his chest as he pulled Rush forward.

"You seem—anxious," Rush murmured.

"No. Yes. Slightly. If I'm anxious it's _your_ _fault_ anyway_._"

"That's true, I suppose."

"But it's not so much anxiety it's more that I just—for some reason I find you to be incredibly—attractive?"

"That's—odd," Rush breathed. "But immaterial. This is purely about repairing your mind with the maximum efficiency possible."

"You never needed to do it this way _previously_," Young said.

"Well clearly I wasn't doing a very thorough job," Rush replied, bringing his left hand up, sliding his palm delicately along Young's cheek.

"Bullshit," Young murmured.

"You may be right about that," Rush said, with a hint of a real smile.

"I _know_ I'm—"

Rush kissed him.

For the first few minutes the feel of Rush's mind was delicate, exploratory, hovering carefully at the weak places in his defenses with a compelling pressure, until finally the scientist poured into his mind with a suffusion of bright, restless energy that seemed to order and clarify his thoughts. The force and rapidity of it were overwhelming, and he—

He—

He couldn't quite—

Everything faded to white.

Awareness came back first with touch. Fingers leisurely traced their way through his hair.

"Everett," Rush said, his voice low, immediate.

"Yeah," he managed, opening his eyes, noting that his head had fallen back against the couch and that Rush was still sitting on top of him.

"Hello," Rush said.

"Hi," he whispered back. "Did you fix it? I can't tell."

"Of course I fixed it. I'm fucking fantastic at this sort of thing."

"Arrogant."

"Yes, rather," Rush said, shaking his hair back out of his face. "But you like that."

"Maybe a little," Young said, giving him a tired smile.

"It's nice to have some insight into this whole thing," Rush murmured, "and I must say that I can see why you employed the approach you did last night. Complete sensory overload really—ah, terminates any kind of progression."

"Yeah, it's not as fun. But seriously?" Young murmured, feeling a half smile on his lips, "Who talks like that?"

"You _like_ it." Rush said again, drawing out the words this time.

"I do, actually," Young murmured, his eyes half closing.

"You're very tired," Rush whispered, looking at him searchingly.

"So are you," Young replied. "I bet you're only talking because you can't even project right now."

"Come on," Rush murmured. "You need to sleep." The scientist stood, somewhat unsteadily and then reached down to pull Young up.

He swayed momentarily as the blood left his head, but Rush had an iron grip on his upper arm and kept him steady.

After a few seconds of standing, Rush pulled him toward the bed.

"You know, I suspect I wouldn't feel half this bad if you didn't _also_," Young said, realizing his voice sounded somewhat vague.

"Also what?" Rush asked, amused.

"Also feel like _shit_. In fact," Young continued, "I'm certain that this is entirely _your_ fault."

"Mmm," Rush said. "In all likelihood, yes. Yes it is." He used the hand that wasn't clamped around Young's upper arm to adroitly reach over and unzip Young's jacket and then made short work of easing it over the minimal bandages that still ringed Young's forearms. He stepped forward, backing Young toward the bed. "Sit," he murmured, forcing Young down onto the edge of the bed with a subtle pressure on his biceps before dropping into a cross-legged position on the floor to unlace Young's boots.

"Rush, please tell me you're going to sleep."

"It's inevitable," Rush said wryly, as he finished the right boot and moved on to the left, his fingers rapid and sure.

"I love those kinds of answers, I really do, did you know that? Is that why I get them so god damned much?"

Rush ducked his head as he pulled off Young's boots. "I'm going to shower," he murmured, "finish up a few things, and _then_ I'll go to sleep."

"One more night of this and I'm going to drug your food."

"Telling me about it ahead of time is not a very effective strategy," Rush said, looking up with a real smile. "I told you. I need less sleep than other people."

"Not this much less. Don't pass out in the shower."

"I won't," Rush whispered, helping Young pull off his belt and then stand to strip down to his boxers.

"That's what you _always_ _say_," Young growled at him.

"Because it's always true," Rush murmured, shoving him back against the pillows. He looked up at the ceiling and the lights dimmed down to near darkness. "Go to sleep," he murmured, and again, Young felt Rush's fingers trail through his hair, his mind blending into Young's until, with a subtle, quiet pressure everything faded.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Young awoke to the obnoxious trill of his alarm going off. He let it proceed for a few seconds longer than usual, fighting the bone deep weariness that even a full night's sleep had not been able to erase.<p>

He sat up, surprised to find Rush asleep next to him, face down, tangled restlessly in the blankets that he had mostly pulled away from Young.

Young frowned.

Rush hadn't moved, despite the persistent beeping of the alarm. He grabbed his phone and, instead of silencing it, he held it directly next to Rush's ear.

No response.

_Shit_.

He turned the phone off and then flipped Rush over and shook him.

"Rush," he snapped. "_Nick_."

Still nothing.

He gave the other man's mind a panicked mental shove.

Finally, _finally_ Rush's eyes opened and he looked up vaguely at Young, clearly still half asleep.

Or half _unconscious_.

"Quid?" Rush said, his hands coming up to his face.

"Jesus Christ," Young breathed in relief. "_You_ _weren't_ _waking_ _up_."

"Well, I'm fair fuckin' tired," Rush slurred. "What did you expect?"

Young narrowed his eyes. "That's never happened before. You always—"

"It's fine," Rush said, sitting up.

Young shoved him back down. "I think you should stay. Let Eli run the nine hundred briefing."

Rush shook his head and pulled away from Young. "Everything is _fine_. I even slept. You should be _happy_." He didn't look at Young as he said it.

Young watched Rush get unsteadily to his feet and then make his way to the bathroom, his gait clearly unstable.

Young sat up, perching on the edge of the bed, and dropped his head down into his hands.

It looked like it was going to be another great fucking day.


	35. Chapter 35

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** There are a few quotes in this one from the SG-1 episode Meridian—Ancient sayings. After reading this chapter, please proceed to the oneshot "The Bridge over the Rhine." This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>Young sat with his head cradled in his hands for a good five minutes, trying to sort out whether the bone-deep weariness he felt came from him or from Rush, and then trying to decide whether or not it even mattered anymore.<p>

Finally he forced himself to his feet, pulling on his uniform with less than his usual efficiency. He made his bed, shaved, mentally reviewed his to-do list for the day, located his radio, checked in with Scott, straightened up his quarters—

Rush still had not emerged from the bathroom.

It had been at _least_ fifteen minutes.

He knocked on the door.

No answer.

Great.

Young knocked again. "/Rush/," he snapped, speaking aloud and projecting.

There was something oddly dark and muted about the feel of the scientist's thoughts against his own.

/Rush, if you don't answer me _right now_, I'm coming in there./

Still nothing.

Young palmed the door controls and the metal panel swished back to reveal Rush standing with his left hand braced against the sink, his gaze locked on empty air. His right hand was in front of him, his palm twisting back toward his face, a rigid frame in the midst of what had been a fluid motion. He looked like he'd been about to push his hair back out of his eyes.

"Oh _hell_," Young breathed, waving a hand in front of Rush's face.

The other man didn't react.

He linked up fully with Rush's thoughts and found the AI pervading his _entire_ mind.

"Hey," Young snapped, his eyes sweeping the bathroom. "Jackson. Or—whatever. I need to fucking talk to you."

"Everett." He heard Jackson's voice from directly behind him. He spun on his heel to see the AI leaning in the doorframe.

"What the _hell_ is _this_?" Young said, waving an open hand in Rush's direction, unable to control the antagonism he could hear in his own voice.

"He was about to have a flashback," it said quietly, wrapping its arms across its chest. "I stopped it."

"Yeah. I can see that. It looks like you stopped _everything_ _else_ along with it," Young said, trying to control the rising volume of his voice.

"Yes," it admitted. Barely a whisper.

He took a deep breath, attempting to get a handle on his anger and—on his fear.

"He had, what, at least fifteen flashbacks yesterday _alone_? What makes this one different?" Young asked, making a concerted effort to not just _sound_ reasonable, but to actually _be_ reasonable.

"I do not wish to see it."

"Um," Young said. "Okay. I can understand that, I guess. But this," he gestured again at Rush's frozen profile. "_This_ is not a solution. You just _left _him like this? For _how long_?"

"Ten minutes," it said quietly.

"He's been like this for _ten minutes_? Why didn't you _come get me_?"

The AI looked away, almost guiltily. "He is not in any danger. I have simply halted his higher cognitive processes. Yesterday was—difficult."

"Yeah," Young said quietly, feeling his blood chill in his veins as he realized that what the AI had essentially admitted was that it needed a _break_ from Rush. "Yeah it was. For everyone. But um, you really _can't_ leave him like this."

"I am aware of that. I request that you deflect this flashback into something else."

"Are you trying to _bargain_ with me?" Young growled, "because I wouldn't recommend that course of action."

"No," it said, its eyebrows drawing together in an almost perfect impersonation of Daniel Jackson. "No. I simply _request _that you deflect this particular memory."

Young took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. "This one upsets you?"

"Yes," it admitted, turning away.

"I think maybe that means you should let us see it," Young said, looking uneasily in Rush's direction. The scientist was still frozen, his muscles tense and locked, as if he were forever struggling to complete the motion he had begun.

"I disagree," it said, wrapping its arms around its chest.

"Of course you do," Young replied, resignedly, almost to himself, his eyes still locked on Rush. "Look, is he _okay_ like this? _Really_?"

"Yes," it said quietly. "When I release him, he will not understand what has happened. He will be confused and tired—from fighting me."

"I think he's tired enough," Young said. "How often do you do this to him?"

"Not often," it said, Jackson's shoulders hunching in a way that Young recognized. He looked away, shutting his eyes against the outline the AI cut into his visual field.

"Will you deflect it?" it asked. "The memory?"

Young tamped down on his instinctive, aggressive response.

He took a deep breath.

"What if I say no?" he asked it. "Are you really going to leave him like this?"

"No," it whispered finally.

"Let him go," Young whispered. "This isn't right. You know it's not."

It looked down and released its hold.

Rush's hand came up and he overbalanced at the sudden completion of his movement. Young stepped in to steady him and Rush flinched, their link echoing with a flash of surprise at Young's unexpected appearance and then—

_He's shaking as he sets the program up. His hair is damp and in his bones an ache uncoils, familiar and persistent—the pain of fever that will not relent. He knows its time course well, having watched so many others die. He's orchestrated this with all of the precision he can bring to bear, but he can't help the doubt that floods his thoughts. He wonders if what he will do will hurt. _

_He thinks it will. _

_He tries to steady his hands. _

_He tries to be unafraid. _

_There is only one thing that we can ever truly control—_

_The metal chills his fingers as they trace the subtle swirls of color in the alloyed dark. He's been here many times. The neural network that pervades this ship is his design—sophisticated, adaptable, and possessed of the potential to form more connections than all neuronal contacts in the Ancient mind. It has the potential to hold a true consciousness. The potential to learn. To develop. To adapt. And now—_

_Now he tests his work._

_He can feel the air in his throat, the trail of clothing over skin, the way his hair catches the collar of his uniform, the weight of the medical instruments in his pockets. He takes off his jacket. It falls to the floor. His hands are shaking, his eyelids scrape his eyes in slowing blinks._

_His civilization has failed. _

_His hands, against the console, tense before initiating that which he designed. _

_He draws in a shuddered breath. _

_There is only one thing that we can ever truly control—whether we are good, or whether we are evil._

_His footsteps echo in the empty room. As he draws near the neural interface lights up as its restraints snap free. The lights fade down into an azure glow. _

_He stops. _

_He breathes again. _

_If he does this—he gives up his chance of ascension. He gives up on the possibility of ever, _ever_ seeing his family again. They will transcend this plane while he stays locked. Locked to this universe, locked to this ship, locked to this timeline, locked into a ceaseless searching, unless he can fulfill the task that he's been set and tear into the quantum foam where potential is engendered. _

_It is unlikely._

_It is fraught with ethical concerns. _

_But—_

_Millions have died. Millions more will follow. Most will fail to ascend. His society has fallen._

_He moves. _

_His heart begins to hammer in his chest. _

_He turns._

_He sits._

_Restraints snap down to hold his hands, his feet, his mind, in place. _

_Lightning flashes. Sparks shower. In one blink of an eye—_

The image shattered apart as the AI moved in on Rush's mind, dark, full of panic, tearing through the memory, obliterating its context, destroying any sense of meaning that was being ascribed to it. It moved forward, annexing Rush's consciousness as it advanced.

Instinctively, Young moved forward as well, protecting as much of the scientist's mind as he could.

They reached a stalemate.

Young kept a tight, vicious hold on what he had of Rush's consciousness as he opened his eyes and let the room fade back in.

Above him, a prolonged, high-pitched burst of static echoed eerily through the sound system. The lights flickered.

Beside him, Rush had frozen again, his eyes blank and horrified.

"Shit," Young whispered. "Shit, shit, _shit_."

The AI was _panicking_ and Rush was—was definitely unavailable to help calm it down.

Young was going to have to figure this out on his own.

His radio crackled. "Colonel, this is Eli."

He adjusted his stance and carefully kicked Rush's bare feet out from under him, taking him down as gently as possible to the floor of the bathroom.

His radio crackled again. "Sir, this is Scott, we're getting some kind of weird, uh, static coming through up here on the bridge, just thought you'd want to be aware of this."

"Hey," he said, to the empty air, kneeling beside Rush. "Jackson. Daniel. Come on. Talk to me here."

No response.

The AI had vanished.

After a few seconds, his radio crackled again.

"Everett, what the _hell_ is going on?" Telford snapped, across the open channel.

Young curled his fingers around the back of Rush's neck and took a look at his mind.

The darkness of the AI blanketed every place that Young wasn't.

Everything he could detect of Rush was utterly frozen.

He was fairly certain that he could force the AI out of Rush's mind, but that course of action was not going to solve his problem and would probably turn into an ugly, brutal struggle that would just shred the scientist's consciousness. So instead, he took a deep breath, and—

/Hey,/ he projected delicately at the terrifying darkness of the AI, sending it as much reassurance as he could muster through his own fear and his own panic.

Out of habit, because he would have done the same thing if he'd really been talking to Rush, he moved closer, bringing a hand up to run it through the scientist's hair.

/You're okay,/ he projected into the blackness, trying not to think of anything related to Rush or to the AI, or to the mission. /It was a memory. A _memory_. It's over now. You're okay./

He got a wordless, powerful wave of anxiety in return that wasn't coming _from_ Rush but _through_ him instead.

Overhead the speakers continued their electronic scream.

/Come on, kiddo,/ he said to it, projecting calm for all he was worth. /Talk to me./

"I don't like to remember him."

Young jumped as Jackson appeared in his peripheral vision, too close to him, sitting against the bathroom wall, his knees pulled up into his chest.

"God damn. You've gotta warn people when you do that kind of thing." Young pressed a palm over his racing heart.

"Sorry," it whispered.

"That's okay," Young said, turning slightly to face it, adjusting his position so that he was sitting cross-legged near Rush's head.

It looked away from him.

"That's okay," he repeated, his voice barely audible over the sound coming out of the speaker system.

His initial shock was wearing off, replaced by a sense of wary relief that the thing was willing to engage with him at all.

His radio crackled again. "Hi, this is Eli. So Rush isn't answering his radio either and Telford is about to um, mount a search for you guys starting in like the obvious places, so if you're out there can you _please respond_?"

"Do you think you could—" Young waved at the ceiling, indicating the lights and the sound system, "do something about this stuff? It's making people very nervous."

He continued to project reassurance through his link with Rush, directing it straight into the darkness of the AI.

Jackson glanced at the ceiling and the sound stopped. The flickering of the lights stabilized.

Young picked up his radio. "Eli, everything is under control, no need to do anything drastic. Spread the word that the nine hundred briefing is pushed back to ten hundred hours. You may end up running it, just so you know."

"Yeah, okay." Eli said, subdued. "See you then."

"So," Young said, looking at the AI, letting his thoughts skim the surface of Rush's mind. "Why don't you like to remember him? This doctor guy of yours?"

He could be mistaken, but he thought the AI had relaxed its hold on Rush's thoughts.

Marginally.

"I don't wish to discuss it," it whispered, looking away.

"Yeah," Young said. "I get that, I do, but there are two things you've got to face here. Number one, we need to find that tracking device. Number two, he thinks this is the only way to do so, and he's absolutely god damned _merciless_ when he gets like this and he's probably not going to stop. Not ever. Not for me, not for you, not for himself."

The AI curled into itself. "I want him to find a different way."

"Yeah, you and me both. Do you have any better ideas though?"

It looked away. "No."

"Me neither," he said, absently combing his fingers through Rush's hair. "So. You want to tell me about this doctor?"

"No," it whispered.

"Come on, kid," he said quietly, projecting calm out into its mental darkness.

"When I think about him, I feel afraid," it whispered.

"Yeah, I can see that," Young said quietly. "Why?"

"I don't know," it replied. "I believe that what happened to him was—" it broke off. "Not ideal."

Young nodded. "What do you remember about him?"

"I did not exist before him. The memory you just witnessed was the moment I became self-aware—when we merged. I believe it was at that time that I gained his memories and his experiences—an entire lifetime of information. But nearly everything that I gained from him is gone. I—I am left without a template, with only shreds of a personality. We destroyed what we could and we and over-wrote the rest."

"Look," Young said carefully. "The way you're describing this," he broke off, rubbing his fingers over his jaw, "it sounds like—like the pair of you, the combination, tried to kill yourselves."

"Yes," it said quietly. "I believe that may be an accurate way of conceptualizing it."

"But you don't know _why_?" Young asked carefully.

"No," it said, "and I do not wish to know. I am certain that we had a good reason to do so."

"Yeah," Young said quietly, "maybe."

He looked down at Rush. The scientist's eyes were still open in a glassy stare.

"But if there's any trace of what you _were_ left in your system _now_, he's going to figure it out."

"Yes," the AI whispered. "Probably."

"You can't prevent him from pursuing those memories," Young said finally, "and this," he said, indicating Rush with a sweeping gesture, "this is no kind of solution."

"I know."

"So let him go," Young said quietly.

"I need a moment," it whispered.

"This is not good for his mind," Young said quietly.

"It was a difficult night for me," The AI replied.

"Yeah. You mentioned that earlier," Young murmured, trying to keep a lid of his rising frustration.

He just wanted the damn thing to let Rush _go_.

In an attempt to encourage it to do so he started to carefully, incrementally relax his _own _hold on Rush's mind.

"What was he doing last night after I went to sleep?"

"Attempting to bring the memories forward without you."

"Great," Young whispered.

"When you're there it's better," the AI said, closing its eyes briefly. "He can't pull himself out. He just has to wait. Until they end."

"How much is he fucking himself up by doing this? Do you know?"

"If I understand you correctly, then I think the answer is that he's fucking himself up both intensively and rapidly."

He could feel the AI begin to loosen its grip on Rush's mind.

"Yeah," Young said. "That's what it seems like." He rubbed his jaw. "Speaking of yesterday," he said, with as much nonchalance as he could muster, "I've been wondering—what happens to _you_ when he sits in the chair?" He wasn't sure that he could keep his facial expression perfectly controlled, so he looked down, brushing a stray piece of hair away from Rush's forehead, trying to focus on nothing other than the way the metal cabinets pressed uncomfortably into his back.

"I am—unsure," it whispered. "I do not form memories of that time."

"Mmm," he said neutrally. "Neither does he."

"I believe that our minds may merge in some way," it said quietly.

"What makes you think that?" Young asked, still not looking up.

He reached out to carefully close Rush's eyelids, unable to stand the horrified blankness in his gaze.

"The fact that neither of us forms memories suggests that there is potentially a third consciousness that does. One that appears when he sits in the neural interface and that also may be created to varying degrees when Destiny pulls on his mind, as you call it."

"I always suspected that it was _you_, actually, pulling on him, even though he seems to think that you can protect him from the pull of the ship."

"It's not—my conscious intent to do so. I believe that the "pull" is what you perceive when we begin to merge outside the neural interface."

"Is that the way it was designed to work?" Young asked it quietly.

"No. Merging outside the interface is what _you_ are supposed to _prevent_."

"I guess I'm doing a pretty shitty job," he said quietly.

"No," it murmured. "The compulsion to merge is stronger than it should be. Much stronger."

"Why is that, do you think?" Young whispered.

"Many reasons," Jackson whispered.

"Like what?" Young asked, careful to keep his voice neutral, unable to believe the level of cooperation he was getting.

"He is partially human, he is physically and cognitively damaged, and he—does not like who he is." It looked away from Young. "He doesn't just feel the need to combine with me," it whispered. "He _wants_ to."

"Yeah," Young said, shutting his eyes. "I think you're right about that."

"Furthermore," the AI said, its voice almost inaudible. "I lack a template. I was not designed to operate this way."

"So," Young said quietly, "It's not just that he wants to combine with _you_—you also feel compelled to combine with _him_."

Silence fell.

Young could feel the AI further loosening its grip on Rush's mind—not giving ground, just relaxing its unremitting hold.

Beneath his hand, he could feel some of the tension begin to leave Rush's frame.

"So what are we going to do about all of this?" he asked it quietly.

"_We _will do _nothing._" It looked away. "Many of your goals are unacceptable."

"Yeah, I get that. But some of them are aligned. Maybe we could focus on those."

"Such as?"

"Keeping him _alive_ in the short term? Gating the crew back to Earth?

"I am amenable to that," it said quietly.

"Okay then," Young said. "What do you say about letting him go? This can't be good for him."

It nodded at him shortly. "I will—help you. To the extent that I can." It got to its feet and began to ebb out of Rush's mind as it strode out of the room straight through the solid metal of the bathroom wall.

"Holy _shit_," Young whispered to himself.

He looked down to see Rush blinking slowly. After a few seconds Young felt the AI clear completely from his mind and the scientist focused on Young with obvious difficulty.

"I—" Rush said, looking at him with a glazed, confused expression. "What—" he turned his head, coughing wetly.

"Yeah," Young said quietly. "I know." Young pulled Rush up into a half-seated position, easing him back against his chest. Rush seemed too startled by his sudden shift from the floor to put up any kind of real resistance. "Just—take it easy for a minute."

Rush coughed several more times and Young handed him a tissue from the front pocket of his BDUs. The scientist held the tissue in front of his mouth for a long moment and then tensed, trying to pull away from Young.

"Hey," Young said quietly, holding him back without much effort. "Not so fast. What's with the coughing?"

"Nosebleed," Rush said shortly. "You fought with the AI?"

"Not exactly," Young said. "It panicked."

"Ah," Rush said weakly. "I never really thought of it as the panicking type."

"Maybe you're rubbing off on it," Young said, reaching around to force Rush's hand open. The tissue the scientist was holding was covered with blood.

"Are you still bleeding?" Young asked quietly.

"No," Rush replied.

"I'm calling TJ."

"I don't think—" Rush began, his muscles tensing, his head lifting away from Young's shoulder with significant difficulty.

"No," Young said, tightening his grip, preventing Rush from getting up. His voice was quiet and low, his lips directly next to Rush's ear as continued. "You never think. You have, _maybe,_ five percent of a normal human allotment of common sense, and absolutely _no_ sense of self preservation, so just—fuck you, Nick." His voice was as soothing as he could make it.

"Um," Rush said, his head falling back against Young's shoulder, clearly confused by the disparity between the tone of Young's words and their actual content. "What is it exactly that I'm supposed to have done?"

"Do you know what time you woke up this morning?" Young asked, pitching his voice low, making it as calm and mellow as possible. Rush tried to twist in his grip to look at him, but Young tightened his hold and finally Rush seemed to give in, relaxing back against him.

"Yes," he said, a hint of wariness in his tone.

"So what time should it be right now?"

"Approximately five minutes past eight in the morning."

"It's eight twenty five," Young said, his grip reflexively tightening again as Rush started. "Do you have _any_ idea what happened during those twenty minutes that you're missing?"

"No, clearly not," Rush murmured. "Why don't you just tell me?"

"You were about to have a flashback that the AI didn't like," Young said, trying to keep his phrasing as neutral as possible, in case it was still around, watching them. "So it stopped you. I think by annexing your _entire_ consciousness."

"_Damn it_," Rush snapped, surging forward against Young's grip. Young yanked him back. "It told me it wouldn't _do_ that."

"Well, it let you have it eventually. It just needed a minute to prepare itself, I guess."

"Ah," Rush said finally, driving the heel of his hand into his eye socket. "Well, I wouldn't really classify that as _panic _on the AI's part. So—I had it, and that brings us to now? Why don't I remember it?"

"No," Young said, drawing out the word. "That _doesn't _bring us to now. You had the flashback and the AI freaked out in the middle of it and it pulled you out by freezing your mind. _Again_."

"Well, that's fucking irritating." Rush sighed. "Did _you _see it?"

"Yeah, I did—but I think you're missing my point here, genius."

"What did you see?" Rush asked, again trying to escape Young's grip.

"Nick," Young said, "can you please just _leave it alone_ for three goddamn minutes?"

Something in his tone seemed to break through to Rush and the scientist shuddered briefly in his grip before relaxing back against him. "You're upset," Rush said quietly.

"I hate this," Young whispered after a moment into his hair. "I hate it."

"I know you do," Rush replied.

"You can't keep doing this. You don't have this kind of stamina. You need to _sleep_. I'm sure your mind is a fucking disaster."

"Most likely," Rush agreed. "I think it needs to be to pull this information forward. Most of it has been overwritten. I have to be especially sensitive to have even a remote chance of picking it up."

"Can't you just—wait a few days? You're still not entirely recovered from the fallout of the Nakai attack. They're not going to find us until we drop out of FTL and nothing's going to be pulling us out in the space between galaxies. There's no reason that this has to happen _right now_."

Rush sighed, turning his head to press his forehead into the side of Young's cheek. "I'm not going to give you a hard time about the flagrant irresponsibility inherent in the statement you just made."

"Now you're just trying to piss me off," Young said. "It's not going to work."

"Well, you can't blame me for trying," he said, some of his exhaustion coming through. "So. Flashback?"

"I'll tell you about the flashback if you let me fix your mind."

"There will be no fixing of anything until we find this tracking device. Then—you're free to fix away."

"Come on," Young said quietly into his hair. "It might even help."

"I absolutely forbid it," Rush replied quietly, his voice low and serious. "Are we clear on that?"

"Yeah, okay. Fine. I think it's a mistake, but fine."

Rush nodded fractionally. "So what was this flashback all about?"

"It was the doctor—I think in the moments immediately preceding his merge with the AI."

"Did you learn anything about him?"

"Yeah. It seems like he was involved in the design of a lot of the systems on Destiny, including the AI. He also seemed to be sick himself with the virus that caused the plague. He had a fever, at least."

"Anything else?" Rush murmured.

"He was afraid. He seemed to think that when he joined with the AI he was giving up his chance to ascend."

"Yes," Rush murmured. "Ascension isn't the plan." The scientist's head was heavy against his shoulder.

"You sure about that genius?" Young whispered. "Are you sure you really know what the plan is?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Rush murmured, his words starting to run together.

"Oh, I don't know," Young whispered, starting to loosen his hold on Rush, rhythmically running a hand up and down his arm. "Just thinking out loud, I guess."

"What happened at the end?" Rush murmured. "What upset the AI?"

"The guy sat down in the chair, and he was thinking of something. Some kind of Ancient saying—it was something about lightning and sparks and blinking and then—the AI flipped out."

"Lightning flashes. Sparks shower. In one blink of an eye you have missed seeing," Rush said, the words barely intelligible.

"Yup," Young whispered. "That was it."

"Curious," Rush replied.

"Mmm," Young said, almost inaudibly. He continued to slowly run his hand up and down Rush's upper arm for about twenty seconds.

Rush was about to fall asleep.

If he simply held still, saying nothing—

His radio crackled, and Rush jerked forward with a sudden surge of alarm, out of Young's grip. He looked back at him suspiciously.

Young tried to look as innocent as possible as he pulled his radio out of his pocket.

"Everett, this is David. Why the _hell_ isn't Rush answering his radio? Do you know where he is?"

Young sighed. "He _frequently_ doesn't answer his radio. Just catch up with him at the briefing."

"With respect, I think that's a terrible idea. That technical _glitch_ we just experienced was determined to have originated from the AI, and no one can find _Rush_? That seems like a problem to me."

Before Young could stop him, Rush reached over and grabbed the radio straight out of Young's grip.

"Fuck off, David," Rush snapped.

"Um, great." Young said, glaring at Rush. "Great. Thanks for that."

"He knows exactly where I am right now," Rush snapped in clear irritation. "He's just fucking with you. So now he knows that you know that he knows."

"_What_?" Young said, after a brief pause.

"So he's fine then," Telford's voice crackled through the radio. "I'll see you at the briefing."

"How does he know where you are?" Young asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Because he's not an idiot," Rush said, getting unsteadily to his feet and then turning to offer a hand to Young. "I'm sure he suspects that we're sleeping together."

"How do you know?" Young said, his eyes narrowing.

"Because he _always_ suspects people are sleeping together."

"And you're suddenly an expert on David Telford?"

"I hardly think the word 'suddenly' is accurate." Rush brushed past him, heading out of the bathroom.

Young followed him.

"What's the story with you two?" he asked. "Really."

"Oh, you know. The usual. Friendship, shared aspirations leading to betrayal and deeply bitter enmity that is occasionally interspersed by reminders of past camaraderie. Have you seen my jacket?"

Young rolled his eyes.

"You're a lot of work."

"That seems to be the general sentiment, yes," Rush said, turning away and driving the heel of his hand into his eye. "For some reason I thought I slept in it—"

Young walked over to the back of the couch and picked up Rush's jacket, raising his eyebrows. "You slept in the _rest _of your clothes," he said mildly. "For reasons that are obscure to me."

"I think I might have—" Rush began absently, but then, with a thrill of alarm, he broke off, his thoughts purposefully shattering.

"Might have what?" Young asked mildly as he walked over to hand Rush his jacket.

"Nothing. Never mind. Thank you." He pulled on his jacket.

"So," Young said, "other than driving yourself mercilessly into the ground, what's on your agenda for the day?"

"Nothing other than this briefing," Rush said. "You?"

Young shrugged. "Paperwork mainly."

"Right. Personally," Rush said, lifting his eyebrows as he sat to lace up his boots. "I can't believe that you came to an Ancient ship billions of light years from Earth and then just recreated the entire bureaucracy of the SGC. Talk about a missed opportunity."

"These procedures are in place for a _reason_, _Rush_. They—"

Rush looked down quickly, hiding his face.

"You're _baiting _me," Young said, feeling his mouth twist with the effort of suppressing a smile.

"No," Rush said, shaking his hair out of his eyes. "I genuinely think you're an idiot."

"Bullshit. You're such a—"

"_You're a terrible liar, sweetheart," Gloria says, leaning in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, unbelievably fragile looking with her dark hair and her dark sweater wrapped around her. She gives him a half smile. "You don't like it at all."_

"_I like it," he says. "I do. It's very, ah—fashionable?" He looks back down at the exams he's grading. _

"_Now you're just guessing. As if you have any idea what's fashionable."_

"_I resent that," he says, not looking up, but smiling at her all the same. "I'm extremely informed about current trends in almost every arena."_

"_You can't consistently identify the difference between a dress and a skirt, let alone—"_

"_That was _one _time. Years ago. You're just not going to let that one go, are you?"_

"_I'm not planning on it, no."_

_He doesn't look up, but he knows she's still there, in the doorway, watching him._

"_It's not that I don't like the thing," he says, wishing that he could look up at her, but knowing that he can't, _he can't_. "I just miss the blonde. That's all."_

"_It will grow back," she says quietly. He can see her in his peripheral vision, fingering the strands of the wig she's wearing. _

"_Of course," he says. "Of course it will." _

_He looks away for a moment, and when he looks back, the doorway is dark, and she is gone._

The room faded back in around Young as the memory ended of its own accord. The graceful twists of Rush's hands as he laced up his boots had momentarily halted, and the scientist was still.

There was a bleakness in the feel of his thoughts that Young couldn't remember ever encountering.

Neither of them said anything.

Rush resumed lacing his boots.

"Can you even attend this briefing?" Young asked quietly. "You're having too many of these things to sit through a two hour meeting."

"It's only supposed to be one hour," Rush said.

"When is the last time the science team had a meeting that ended on schedule?"

"Fair point."

"Eli can run it. I'll go."

Rush looked up at him, hesitating. "You're nearly as debilitated as I am—unless you block me out."

"Forget it," Young said. "It's not happening."

"I think it might help, actually," Rush said quietly.

"How can I put this so that you'll understand," Young said, as he crossed his arms. "Not a fucking chance in _hell_, Rush."

"Stop posturing and try to be constructive, will you?"

"Stop being such a condescending son of a bitch. I block, and you get pulled into the ship, which believe me, is not a good thing. I blocked way the _hell_ too much in the beginning and it is not happening again. Ever."

"Fuck off," Rush said.

"_Fuck off," he hisses, and something about his posture or the tone of his voice makes it draw back even though he's wet and shivering and wretched there on the smooth, icy floor, one hand pressed to his chest. He shifts into a crouch, his eyes narrowing. It's going to try to drag him back to that fucking tank—he's not sure why but the water seems to enhance their telepathic abilities, opening his mind like a damned party line that any of them, _all_ of them can just fucking dial into. It reaches for him and he launches himself at it—_

Young snapped his mind sideways into—

_The crack as the other kid's helmet hits the side wall is frightening, and he backs off briefly, his skates sliding underneath him, and he has to angle his blades to keep from falling as the right wing comes right back at him. Somewhere, distantly, he hears the sound of a whistle._

The room rushed back at him and he brought a hand to his forehead.

"This is pretty damn debilitating, Nick," he said quietly.

"Well, it wouldn't be if you _blocked_," Rush replied, but the fight had more or less gone out of him and he leaned back against the couch.

"I can't block, genius," Young said quietly, walking around the low table to sit next to him. "I won't."

"Why not?" Rush asked.

"You tell me what you do at night and I'll tell you why I won't block."

"We can't _both_ miss the briefing," Rush murmured, ignoring his offer.

"Sure we can," Young replied.

He pulled out his radio. "Eli, this is Young. Come in please."

"Yeah, hey. How's it going?" Eli's voice crackled.

"Rush and I are currently pursuing a lead on the location of this tracking device so we're going to have to miss this morning's briefing."

"Okay," Eli said, drawing out the word. "I'll let Colonel Telford know, and I'll, um, come by later, let you know what happened."

Rush looked at Young disdainfully. "You realize the entire _purpose_ of that briefing was to discuss the tracking device. If I'm not there—"

"Eli's working things from another angle. You think we're really going to tell Homeworld Command that our plan is to have you somehow psychically commune with the ship to figure out where the hell the Nakai put this thing when they—"

_He can't touch anything and so he can't stop them, _he can't stop them_, he can only watch as one of them approaches the neural interface with its irregular, beating progression. It becomes difficult, so _difficult_, to maintain the shields, to keep the ship at FTL when so much of his processing capacity is taken up by this overwhelming _fear_ that loops endlessly through branching algorithms. He can't shut it down, they didn't design him that way. _

_It sits down._

_He can't stop it._

_The neural interface bolts engage._

_He can't stop it._

_It tears into his circuitry._

_He can't stop it._

_It tears into his mind._

_He can't stop it._

_It—_

Darkness.

Young opened his eyes, gasping against the sense of suffocation, pulling in a deep breath, sitting forward, fighting an overwhelming dizziness. He looked over at Rush. The other man was leaning back against the couch in a boneless sprawl, his head tipped to one side, his eyes shut.

"Hey," he said, feeling his voice rasp painfully in his throat. "_Rush_," he said urgently, shaking the other man.

Almost immediately, Rush's eyelids flickered open.

"That was useful," The scientist said faintly.

"_Useful_?" Young repeated. "You actually _passed out_ in the middle of that one, didn't you?"

"Yes, unfortunately."

"Damn it, Rush."

"Well now we know that one of them sat in the chair." He sighed, pushing his hair back with a shaky hand. "I think you should block," Rush murmured. "I just fixed your mind. This is going to undo everything."

"There will be no blocking," Young growled. "And I'm calling TJ."

"Yes yes," Rush murmured. "So you said."

* * *

><p>The rest of the day passed in a blur of exhausting flashbacks.<p>

TJ came by twice to check in on them, and Eli brought lunch after the briefing to give them the highlights.

As the day progressed, the frequency of the flashbacks seemed to slow.

By approximately twenty-one hundred hours they had stopped nearly entirely.

Thank god.

Rush was sitting on the couch where he'd been most of the day, staring into the center of the room with a strangely intent look.

Young tried several times to brush against his thoughts, but Rush flinched away each time.

Young didn't push the issue, figuring that the scientist had had enough intrusions into his consciousness for the day.

"It's been forty-five minutes since the last one," Rush said vaguely. "I don't think they're going to happen anymore."

"Umm," Young said, regarding him with suspicion that he didn't bother to disguise. "_Why?"_

"Many reasons," Rush said, dragging his eyes over to fix them on Young.

The scientist's expression was briefly, horrifyingly, tormented before it smoothed into a distracted vagueness.

Rush looked away from him, toward the center of the room.

"_Rush_," Young said, taken aback. "What the _hell_ is going on with you?"

"Nothing," Rush said, still not looking at him.

"You don't want to tell me?" Young growled. "Fine. Don't. But know _this_. As soon as you screw up, and you _will_, I will be _waiting_. And when that happens, I'm going to take whatever action _I _think best."

"That seems fair," Rush said, seemingly unperturbed by Young's pronouncement.

"How the hell are you even _awake_? Young asked him. "Are you getting energy from the ship again?"

"I should be so lucky," Rush snapped, narrowing his eyes.

Young narrowed his eyes right back and took a quick look at Rush's mind before the other man could pull away. The block he'd put in place weeks ago that cut Rush off from the energy stream supplied by Destiny was still in place.

"Stop it," Rush snapped in irritation. "Stay out of my head."

"_Why_?" Young half-snarled at him.

"Because _I don't want you in there_."

"Are you joining with the ship?"

"No." Again, Rush was looking out at the center of the room.

"You're doing _something_.

"I'm tired. That's all. I'm just—really fucking tired."

"Well now that you're not having flashbacks anymore, can you go to _sleep_?"

"No."

Young sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

"I'm going to take a shower," Young said. "Are you coming?"

"No," Rush said. "I'll go later. I'm supposed to meet Chloe and Eli to—"

"Quantum mechanics. Right. Fine."

* * *

><p>On his way back from his shower, Young stopped by the infirmary.<p>

TJ looked up as he entered.

"Hey," Young said quietly.

"Hey," she replied, giving him a sympathetic look. "How's it going?"

"I've been better," Young murmured wryly. "Do you have anything to help with sleep? Nothing too crazy just—um—" he wasn't entirely sure how to continue.

"Would this be for _you_?" she asked him delicately. "Or for Rush?"

"Rush," he said shortly, not looking at her. "He's hasn't slept in days."

"Yeah," she said quietly.

"He's a mess," Young growled. "Well. You saw him this morning."

She walked over to her pharmacy and pulled out a small bottle. "Give him a third of this." She picked up a pen and marked off the bottle into three equal parts.

"Um, could I put it in tea?" he asked carefully, avoiding her eyes.

"I wouldn't recommend drugging him without his consent," she said sharply. "I don't think he would be at all happy about that."

"Yeah. Right. I mean, _obviously_ he would be extremely pissed. He just, um—likes tea."

"Putting it in tea shouldn't affect it at all," she murmured, looking at him with narrowed eyes.

He looked away. "How long is this stuff going to take to work?"

"Maybe ten, fifteen minutes," she said. "It's the same stuff we gave him when the chair was pulling on his mind—just a significantly smaller dose."

"And how long do you think he'll sleep for?"

"Four hours," she said, "give or take four hours." She sighed. "It's tough to say with him."

"So, somewhere between zero and eight hours?" he asked dubiously. "That's a pretty wide margin."

"Well, it depends on a lot of factors," she said quietly. "How tired he is, whether his metabolism is the same as it was the last time we used it—" she broke off with a shrug. "These things usually hit him pretty hard, so I'd say it will likely be closer to eight hours."

"Great. Thanks TJ." He turned, heading for the door.

"Hey," she said, and he spun around.

"I'm only giving you that stuff because I _know_ that he's up to something behind your back."

He gave her half a smile. "Evening the playing field?"

She tossed him a power bar. "Make him eat that before you put him out."

* * *

><p>Young kept himself busy for the next hour or so, until he could tell from intermittent flashes of Rush's thoughts that Chloe and Eli were gone.<p>

As he made his way back to his room, tea in hand, he turned over the events of the day in his mind.

It bothered him that the frequency of Rush's flashbacks had decreased as the day progressed, and it strengthened his suspicion that something had happened the previous night.

Something more than simply Rush himself attempting to pull the memories forward on his own.

He reached out with an elbow to hit the door controls, juggling the two teas he held as he did so. The door swished open to reveal the scientist, curled on the couch, staring at the center of the room with half-lidded eyes.

"Hey," he said as he came in.

"Hello," Rush replied, shaking his head slightly as Young approached.

"I brought you tea." He set both cups down on the low table.

"It's decaffeinated," Rush said vaguely.

"Um, yes."

"Well then it's not really _tea_, is it?"

Young pulled the power bar TJ had given him out of his pocket and tossed it to Rush. "TJ says you should eat that."

Rush watched the parabola made by the power bar as if he weren't entirely sure what to do about it. Belatedly, one of his hands snapped out to catch it. He sighed, then eyed the tea on the table suspiciously.

"Did you drug that?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"You'd better believe it," Young said.

"I'm not drinking it," Rush said, cocking his head, his thoughts pressing against Young's with an exhausted inquisitiveness. This time it was Young who pulled away.

"Fine," Young replied. "I'll drink both. I happen to _like_ tea. It beats the hell out of water that tastes like plastic. Or maybe I can get some electrolytes for you."

"Oh fuck off," Rush murmured, amused. He took a bite of the power bar.

"You don't _need_ to be drugged," Young said. "You're _exhausted_. You haven't had a flashback in two hours." You're going to fall asleep in about ten minutes."

"Unlikely," Rush said vaguely, looking out into the room.

"Hey," he said instead, coming to sit directly in front of Rush, handing him a cup of tea. "What are you _looking _at? Is the AI talking to you?"

"Yes," he said, taking the tea, his hand shaking subtly. "Yes. It's distracting."

Behind the couch a sudden flash of movement caught Young's eye, and he looked up to see the AI, projecting to him as Jackson. It shook its head, its projection flickering.

"Yeah," Young said quietly, giving the AI an alarmed look. "I'm sure."

"You should go to sleep," Rush said, his eyes flicking back out into the middle of the room.

"Yeah, I will," Young said. "I'm just going to drink my tea."

"Switch with me," Rush snapped suddenly, his voice abruptly regaining focus, his eyes narrowed.

"Rush. They're _exactly the same_," Young said quietly. "I promise you that."

"Then you should have no objection to switching," Rush said.

"Fine," Young replied.

They exchanged cups.

Rush looked down. "Sorry," he said finally, taking a sip of the tea.

"What was it Greer called you?" Young asked with half a smile. "A skeptical son of a bitch?"

"That was the one," Rush said. "Don't let me fall asleep."

"I think you have me mistaken for someone else," Young said. "Someone who _doesn't _think this is the worst fucking idea you've had since—I don't even know when."

Rush smiled faintly and took another bite of his power bar.

"So, how's the quantum mechanics coming along?"

"Fairly well," Rush said. "Eli has—" he broke off, his eyes again snapping to the middle of the room. Young looked up to meet the AI's eyes. It had its arms crossed over its chest, one hand pressed to its mouth.

"What is he _looking at_?" Young mouthed at it.

It shook its head, flickering, looking away from whatever Rush was watching.

"Eli has what?" Young said, shifting slightly to place himself between Rush and whatever he was looking at.

"Eli has more raw processing power than I've ever seen coupled with a decent intuitive sense for numbers but he has the tendency of giving up quite easily unless the stakes are high," Rush said.

"That sounds about right," Young said mildly, continuing to sip his tea. "What about Chloe?"

"Chloe is persistent, logical, and intuitive, but tends to make arithmetical errors which set her back when she doesn't catch them. I can identify with that problem."

Rush was halfway through his tea.

"Errors? You?" Young raised his eyebrows. "I don't believe it."

"It's been known to happen. From time to time."

"So any chance you're going to tell me what the _hell_ you're planning on doing with yourself tonight?"

"I'm going to find the tracking device," Rush said, sipping his tea. "I'm fairly certain of that."

"Yeah. Because you made so much progress today," Young said dubiously.

"Pulling the memories forward was necessary," Rush said, blinking exaggeratedly. "But I never said that I expected to get the answer from them directly. That was an assumption on your part."

"A pretty fucking logical assumption," Young said.

"Indeed," Rush said, hooking one arm over the side of the couch and using his hand to support his head as he continued to sip his tea.

Young gave him an amused half smile.

"What?" Rush said, in a manner that sounded like he had been trying for irritated but couldn't quite get there.

"Nothing," Young said, stifling a yawn. "So how _are _you going to find the tracking device?"

"I'll tell you how I did it after I do it."

"Well, genius, I don't think it's happening tonight," he said, watching Rush's eyes drift shut.

"It is," Rush murmured, "trust me,"

"I drugged your tea," Young said.

Rush cracked his eyelids, looking over at Young.

"But," Rush said, his diction starting to slur. "We switched. You drugged your _own_ tea?"

"Nope," Young said. "I drugged both."

"Get t' fuck," Rush said, looking at Young with an exhausted incredulity.

Young pulled the scientist's listing cup out of his hand.

"That's pure brilliant. For _you_, anyway," Rush said.

"Thanks," Young said, setting the cups on the low table. "So, um, how pissed are you on a scale of one to ten?" He reached down to grab Rush's upper arm and pull him up into a standing position.

"Right now?" Rush asked, steadying himself against Young's shoulders. "I can only really make it to a four. But I'm hoping to improve upon that."

"A four," Young said. "That's not bad."

"I also find mysel' fair fucking impressed," Rush said. "That's mitigating the anger. Somewhat. Plus, y'may actually have helped me."

"Meaning what?" Young said, frowning.

"Meaning that this may be no bad thing." Rush was looking out again into the center of the room. "I'm trying to increase my own sensitivity. Lowering the minimum threshold for signal detection. I'm trying to pick him up. Drugs might work. I was going to try that next _anyway_."

"Trying to pick _who_ up?" Young snapped, trying to hang onto his sense of alarm beneath the drug-induced exhaustion that was weighing down his mind.

"The last traces of the doctor."

"Rush, you're fucking going to sleep if I have to handcuff you to the _bed_," Young growled.

Rush smirked at him.

"Shut up," Young said, dragging him away from the couch, the room spinning slightly as he moved.

"I didn't say _anything_," Rush replied, his superior smile transforming briefly to something real. "I can't be held responsible for your unfortunate turns of phrase."

Young wasn't sure whether it was Rush's exhaustion or his own that made him stumble slightly as they crossed the floor.

Rush nearly overbalanced trying to keep him on his feet.

"Ah shit," Rush murmured, as they righted each other. "Let's go somewhere nice after all this."

"Like where, genius? The observation deck?" Young asked wryly.

"Fucking Hawaii. Isn't that where you people go on holiday?"

"You want to go to Hawaii with me?"

"Yeah. I mean yes. That sounds nice."

He helped Rush sit down on the edge of the bed.

"I'll go to Hawaii with you," he said, looking in consternation at Rush's bootlaces.

"Too complicated," Rush said.

"Hawaii?" Young asked, squinting up at him.

"No. The boots. Just leave them."

Rush leaned back on top of the bedcovers, his feet still on the floor. He reached out, his hand closing around Young's wrist and gave a sharp pull, overbalancing him and bringing Young down to the bed. He fell half on top of Rush.

"Subtle," Young murmured into his hair.

"Get t' fuck. You surreptitiously _drugged _me. What do you fucking _expect_?"

"You deserved it."

"If it's for ye, it'll no go by ye."

They managed to mostly straighten themselves out, with Young ending up on his back and Rush lying half on top of him.

"This is too hard for you," Rush whispered, his arm wrapping around Young's chest.

"Shh," Young said. "Go to sleep."

"Wake me up in four hours," Rush said.

"Yeah," Young replied. "Sure."

"Not you. Y'fucking Judas."

Young wrapped his right arm around Rush, one hand coming to rest in the space between the other man's shoulder blades. Rush was asleep within seconds. It didn't take him long to follow.


	36. Chapter 36

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** Thank you all so much for your thoughtful reviews and encouragement! There's an allusion to T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land" in this chapter. This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>"Everett."<p>

His eyelids felt like they had been glued shut.

"Everett."

Everything hurt—his muscles, his bones, his right shoulder, his eyes, his head.

"_Everett_."

It was Emily's voice. Low and hard and _frightened_.

He opened his eyes to see her there, kneeling next to the side of the bed. She looked into his face, a sweep of honey colored hair across her forehead. Her eyes were wide, her expression frozen.

"Em?" For a moment he was surprised to see her without remembering why.

"No," she said, her features morphing disturbingly into those of Dr. Jackson.

"God _damn_, it," Young said, pushing himself onto his elbows. "We talked about this."

"You wouldn't wake up," Jackson said quietly.

"Well I'm awake _now_. What do you want?"

"Something's wrong with him."

Young looked over to the other side of the bed. It was empty.

He let himself fall back, burying his face in his pillow.

"Something's _always_ wrong with him," he said, the words unintelligible.

"What?" the AI snapped.

"Nothing," Young replied, pushing himself into a sitting position, noting with some surprise that he hadn't taken his boots off the previous night. He had only a vague recollection of falling asleep. "How the _hell_ did he wake up before me? What time is it?"

"It's seven thirty in the morning," The AI replied. "He's been up for five hours."

"_Five hours_?" Young said. "And you're just waking me _now_? I don't think you really understand this whole 'shared-goals' concept. At all." He stood. The room spun around him. "Where the hell _is_ he?"

The AI tipped its head toward the main part of the room. Nearly the entire free floor space was taken up by an elaborate schematic of some portion of the ship that had been chalked out in intricate detail directly onto the deck plating of his quarters. He walked carefully around the perimeter of the diagram until he could see Rush, face down on the couch, his head resting on his left arm. His right hand, which still held the chalk, trailed on the floor.

The AI shifted edgily in his peripheral vision as he approached the scientist and kneeled down next to him.

"Rush," he murmured, gently shaking the other man.

No response.

Young frowned, brushing against Rush's thoughts with his own. He got hardly anything in return, just a dim echo of the turbulent mess that he usually encountered, indicating that Rush was not_ sleeping_.

He was unconscious.

He took a deep breath, trying to fight the sensation that events were rapidly spiraling out of his control. Trying to fight the _fear_ that that produced. Trying to fight the subsequent anger.

He shut his eyes.

He pulled in another deep breath.

"So," he said carefully to the AI. "You want to tell me what happened?"

"He found it," the AI whispered.

"Good," Young said, pulling the chalk out of Rush's hand. He set it on the table with a quiet click then grabbed the scientist's uniform and carefully flipped him onto his back. With narrowed eyes, he examined the other man.

The collar of Rush's jacket was torn. There was a fine patina of dust on his BDUs. Over the knuckles of his left hand there was a faint bruising—as if he'd been in a fight.

While he was examining Rush's collar, something else caught his eye.

A thin trail of dried blood ran from behind Rush's ear down his neck. He tipped Rush's head to the side to examine the injury more closely.

There was a small, single puncture wound immediately behind the other man's ear.

For the span of about three seconds, he didn't understand what he was looking at.

Then—

Then it became clear.

The muscles of his jaw clenched to the point that he felt his teeth might crack under the strain.

There was no question what had been taking place for at _least_ the past two nights.

_At least_.

He stood. The movement was smooth and perfectly controlled, down to the smallest detail. He looked over at the AI, trying to keep everything he was feeling _out _of his eyes.

"You are—angry?" it asked quietly.

"Angry?" he repeated, his voice deceptively mild. "No. No, I don't think 'anger' quite covers it."

He pulled out his radio, broadcasting on a channel that would only be picked up by his senior staff. "This is Young. I'm requesting that TJ, Eli, Greer, and Scott report to my quarters. Immediately. And TJ—bring Varro."

"I can explain," the AI said quietly.

"You can get the _fuck_ out of my sight," Young hissed viciously, allowing a fraction of his rage to spill over into his tone. "You two—you two have made a fucking _mess_ out of this _entire thing_." Despite his best efforts, he was slowly working up to full volume. "And now you want me to _clean it up_. You want me to fucking _fix _him." He took another deep breath. "And I _will_. But I'm doing it _my way_."

"It required—"

"Out," Young growled.

The AI vanished.

Young stalked to the bathroom, picked up a cup, and filled it with water.

He turned on his heel, and re-entered the room.

He sat down on the low table and dashed the entire cup of water straight into Rush's face while at the same time giving him a sharp mental shove.

The scientist's eyes flickered open.

"Fuck," Rush said, in a cracked whisper, bringing one hand up to his face.

"Yes." Young growled. "That's correct. How long have you been working with Telford?" He didn't give Rush a chance to organize his thoughts. "_How long have you been using the Tok'ra device_?"

"You—know about that?" Rush asked, sounding dazed, looking taken aback at the volume of Young's question.

"Yes I fucking know about it, _Rush_. It's hard to miss when you're unconscious on the fucking couch and the puncture wound bleeds all over your goddamn _neck_."

"What?" Rush murmured, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion. One hand came up to the side of his neck.

"Did you think I wouldn't _find out_? Just how stupid do you think I _am_?"

"I was going to tell you," Rush said, his eyes flicking out into the center of the room. "I—"

"Save it. You're a goddamn piece of work. You really are."

"I found it," Rush said, his tone disturbingly vague.

"Great," Young growled. "You got what you fucking wanted. I hope the price wasn't permanent _insanity_. Name, date, location. Right now."

Rush said nothing.

"_Name_," Young snapped.

"What?" Rush said absently, looking again at the center of the room.

Young grabbed him, entwining both hands in the material of Rush's jacket, pulling him upright, forcing Rush's gaze to lock with his own.

"_NAME."_

"Everett Young."

"Not _my _fucking name. Yours. _YOURS_."

"Nicholas Rush. Calm down."

"Date."

"I never know the date," Rush replied, looking uneasy.

"Give it your best shot," Young growled menacingly.

Rush's eyebrows drew together and Young could feel the headache that had taken up residence behind his own eyes increase in intensity. Rush pressed his fingers into his temple, and, at the back of Young's mind, he could sense the scientist trying and failing to order the unmanageable amount of information in his head.

"Temporal sequencing is—difficult for me," Rush murmured.

"I want an _answer_."

"The seventy second decade of the fourth era?"

"Wrong, unless that somehow translates into February of 2011."

"February," Rush repeated. "February—" he broke off, pushing himself forward slightly. "I believe I may have locked Volker in the control interface room last night—"

"Great. I'm sure that's not the _only_ thing you did," Young growled, shoving him back. "What's your _location_?"

"Destiny," Rush said.

"Two out of three," Young said shortly. "You know what that makes you?"

"Sixty-seven percent correct?"

"No, _Rush_. It makes you _not oriented_. And I don't know for sure, but I'm guessing that that date you gave me was off by thousands of years. _At least_. So you can just go to _hell_."

Rush flinched.

The door chimed.

"Stay. Right. There. Do not move. Do not fucking get up or I will put you down and I will _make you stay down_. Are we clear on that?"

Rush nodded, his hand still affixed to his forehead.

Young strode across the room, careful to avoid the chalk drawing, and slammed his hand down on the door controls. The door swished open to reveal Eli.

"Hi," Eli said. "So, can we have this not-so secret meeting _later_? Because it seems that Becker is making kind of a hey-welcome-to-the-intergalactic-planetless-void-w ith-pancakes type breakfast—" Eli trailed off, watching Young's face. "Okay," he said, drawing out the word. "So um, yeah. Now works for me. It's cool. Chloe will save me some pancakes."

Young stepped aside, letting Eli into the room.

"You've been redecorating," Eli said, taking a look at the intricate drawing on the floor. The young man cocked his head to the side, studying the diagram. The he glanced over at Rush, who wasn't looking at either of them, but was staring out into the center of the room.

"Does this make _any _sense to you?" Young snapped.

"Yeah," Eli said, his eyes flicking back and forth between the chalk and Rush. "Yeah, it's um, part of the life support system. It's an information hub, where the life support feeds statistics about conditions on the ship back to the mainframe, and hence, I guess, the AI. There are three of them onboard. How come it's um—drawn on your floor?"

"Rush," Young broke the other man's name off like a threat.

Rush didn't look at him. "Is moris opus," he whispered, reaching out toward something that Young couldn't see. "Scio vestra natura." His thoughts were a muted, distracted swirl.

"What did he just say?" Young growled at Eli.

"He said, um," Eli held his laptop to his chest, encircling it with both arms. "He said 'it won't work. I understand your nature'." Eli looked down at the floor.

"Rush," Young snapped. "Who are you talking to?"

"No one," Rush replied.

"Not the AI?"

"No," Rush said vaguely.

Young and Eli locked eyes briefly.

"Sanus es?" Eli asked quietly, speaking to Rush.

Rush didn't respond.

His door chime sounded again.

Young stalked over, palming the door controls to reveal TJ and Varro, slightly out of breath. TJ had her medical bag over her shoulder.

"Come on," Young said, tilting his head.

"What happened?" TJ asked.

"Rush used a Tok'ra memory recall device on himself," Young growled. "Or _Telford_ used it on him. I don't know which, but they were both involved."

Eli looked up, startled.

"A memory recall device?" TJ said, edging around the chalked drawing and sliding in to sit on the low table immediately in front of Rush.

"Yeah. It's some Goa'uld invention that boosts recall generally—it can't target specific memories, but, look, TJ, he wasn't that stable to begin with. He's not even oriented now."

"I _am_ fucking oriented," Rush said. "I _never_ know the goddamned date."

Young ignored him.

"Look," Young growled, his eyes locked on TJ rather than Rush. "I can't deal with him right now."

TJ glanced up at him sharply, her hand closing over Rush's shoulder.

"I need you two to get him out of here. I want him in the infirmary and I want him in fucking four-point restraints."

TJ said nothing but by the set of her shoulders he could tell that she was considering refusing to comply.

"That's an _order_, Lieutenant Johansen. He's a danger to himself, if not this _ship._ I found him _unconscious_ this morning, he's actively hallucinating, he may have _attacked_ Volker, he hasn't _really_ slept in something like five days, I don't know what the _hell_ he's been doing to himself and I want him fucking _restrained _until I have time to deal with him. Am I understood?"

The room was silent.

Eli had turned his head down and away.

"Am I _understood_?"

"Yes sir."

Young turned to Varro. "You're going to make sure it damn well happens. You got that?"

Varro looked him in the eye and nodded once.

Young dropped into a crouch next to TJ and fixed his gaze on Rush. "Are you going to cooperate?" he growled, "or do I need to send _Greer_ along with you?"

"Fuck you," Rush said, his voice cracked and barely audible.

"Very helpful," TJ snapped. Young thought at first she was talking to Rush, but he looked up to find her gaze locked onto him. She shot him a steeled glare as she inched closer to Rush. "Back off until you cool down."

Young gave her a flinty look in return and surged to his feet, running a hand through his hair. He pulled out his radio. "James," he snapped, "come in."

"James here, go ahead sir."

"James, take a couple of guys and head down to the control interface room. Volker may be locked in there."

There was a brief pause.

"Understood."

Young glanced over at TJ and Rush. He watched TJ help the other man into a sitting position, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

He looked away, watching Eli study the chalked diagram on the floor.

"I want everything you have," Young said, moving in on Eli, "_everything you have_ on Rush's movements at night for the past _week_. Go through all the kino footage. Bring in whomever you want on this. Chloe, Brody, I don't care—just not any of Telford's people. I want to know _what he was doing_, and with whom. In the meantime, get the rest of the science team down here to look at this thing." He made a broad sweep with his hand to encompass the drawing on the floor.

The door chime sounded again, and Young spun on his heel before Eli could respond. He walked quickly over to his bedside table, picked up his sidearm, and strapped it on in one smooth motion.

"Um—" Eli said, as Young went by him.

"No one from Telford's team is to be involved Eli. With _any_ of this. I want them cut out. Of everything. You got that?"

"Yeah, but—"

He strode over to the door and slammed a fist into the door controls. Scott and Greer were waiting in the hallway. He stepped past them, out into the corridor, and, in unison, they spun to follow him as he set off at a brisk pace.

"Sir?" Scott asked after a few seconds. "Can I ask what this is about?"

"Have either of you seen Colonel Telford this morning?"

"He was at breakfast around six hundred hours. Haven't seen him since," Scott said, his tone wary.

Young stopped dead in the middle of the hallway and pulled out his radio. "David, come in please."

After a few seconds, his radio crackled. "Go ahead, Everett."

"We have some things to discuss," Young said, his voice deceptively mild. "What's your current location?"

"I'm in the control interface room. Were you aware that Dr. Rush apparently _locked _Dr. Volker in here a bit after oh four hundred this morning?"

Young resumed his rapid clip, heading in the direction of the room Telford had indicated.

"I'm on my way," Young said.

"Everett, it's imperative that we find Rush. He—he may not entirely be himself at the moment—"

"We'll talk about it when I get there," Young growled. "Young out."

They walked in silence for a few moments.

"Can I ask what the plan is, sir?" Greer said cautiously, from behind him.

"Colonel _Telford_," Young said, twisting the man's name viciously, "At a _minimum_, willfully disobeyed a direct order. He may have also actively caused injury to a civilian under his protection, I am therefore going to charge him under Articles 92 and 128 of the UCMJ, relieve him of his current duties, and confine him until such a time that this case can be reviewed by a military court," Young snarled.

"Well shit," Greer said.

"Yes sir," Scott said.

They were nearing the control interface room.

It was imperative, _imperative_ that he maintain a hold on his fraying self-control. Something frustrated and desperate and _afraid_ teemed in his mind—something that originated not from Rush, but from _him_. From him. Something that had allowed him to leave a man for dead because he was a threat to the mission, something that had allowed him to cut off the air of a damn fine USAF sergeant, to spare him a lonely, painful death. Something that was capable of lashing out in the most vicious of ways.

If this had destroyed Rush—

Young did not let people down.

It was not who he was.

And when—when he _did_ let people down, he fixed it.

He _fixed_ it.

He damn well worked on it and he _fixed _it at any cost.

At _any_ cost.

He would fix this. He would.

Everything would be fine.

He hit the door controls for the CI room.

"Everett," Telford snapped as he entered. "Where the hell have you _been_? We have a situation unfolding here and—"

Unable to help himself, Young crossed the distance between them in three steps, his hand curling into a fist.

Using all his forward momentum he drove it straight into Telford's face.

The other man staggered with the force of the blow before losing his balance entirely and dropping to the floor.

"You're under arrest, you _son of a bitch_," Young snarled.

Greer and Scott stepped up to flank him, their weapons out.

"Clear the room," Young snapped at the assorted scientists that were present. They made a hasty exit.

"What the _fuck_, Everett?" Telford said, bringing a hand up to gingerly touch his split lip.

"You are charged with willfully disobeying a direct order and at least one count of assault on a civilian under your protection," Young growled. "What the _hell_ did you do to him?"

"What about dereliction of duty?" Telford replied acidly, ignoring Young's question as he spit blood onto the floor. "What about gross negligence of command responsibilities? Ring any _bells_, Everett? We had to find that tracking device and this was the _only way_." The other man forced himself to his feet. "I did nothing that wasn't _necessary_. If you hadn't been so goddamned unyielding—"

"How long was this going on for?" Young hissed. "How many nights?"

"Two," Telford said. "Just two."

"And how many _hours_?"

"Six, the first night. Three the second night."

"And then you just fucking _left him alone_ afterwards? You let him just _wander_ the goddamn _ship_ without—"

"No," Telford snapped. "God. _No_. I fucking brought him back. To _your_ quarters. Apparently, last night he left again, but I couldn't have known that—"

"You don't know _anything_, David. Do you have any idea, any idea _at all_ how _close to the edge_ he operates? How goddamned _fragile_—"

"Fragile?" Telford repeated. "_Fragile_? _Nothing_ about that man is _fragile_. Listen to yourself. You're _unbelievably_ compromised where he's concerned. For god's sake, you're _sleeping with him_, Everett."

"Sometimes he stays in my quarters. But that has _no_ bearing here."

Telford shot him a dubious look. "You think the IOA will feel that way?"

"That's not something that you need to concern yourself with, as you won't be using the communications stones any time soon," Young growled. "Scott and Greer will be escorting you to your quarters. Once there, you will hand over the Tok'ra device to Lieutenant Scott, and remain there until _I_ say otherwise. A guard will be posted outside your door to ensure that you comply."

"And how long is this likely to last?" Telford snapped.

"Quite some time," Young snarled.

Telford regarded him silently for a moment. "Did he find it?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," Young said grudgingly. "It looks that way."

"Then it was worth it."

Young shut his eyes and turned his head sharply away from Telford. He took a deep breath.

"You can go to hell, David," Young whispered.

He walked out of the room, leaving Greer and Scott to deal with the other man for the time being.

* * *

><p>He was together enough to realize that going back to the infirmary immediately would be a mistake. Everything was under control at the moment—neither Rush nor Telford was going <em>anywhere <em>and the science team was presumably using Rush's diagram to locate the tracking device. And he—well.

He needed a minute.

Maybe a hell of a lot more than a minute before he made any kind of attempt to scrape the remains of Rush's shredding consciousness into something that approached coherency.

Young headed to the observation deck, where he found Barnes and Reynolds, off-shift, playing cards.

"Get out," he said shortly.

They got.

He sat down on a bench and looked out at darkness. There was no smear of stars in the void between galaxies, just a swirling dimness.

He clenched his jaw.

In the back of his mind, he could feel the exhausted, scattered, distressed swirl of Rush's thoughts. He pulled away as much as he could without blocking.

Events were spiraling out of his control and he needed to get some kind of _handle_ on the situation.

Rush was—

He fought down a wave of intense anger.

Maybe it would be better to start with Telford.

The best, most forgiving, explanation of Telford's actions was that the man felt Young was unacceptably compromised when it came to Rush and had acted to help Rush find the tracking device because he thought Young incapable of doing so. That was essentially what he had implied in his comments regarding Young's suitability for command.

There were, however, other explanations.

One—Telford could know much more about Destiny and the purpose of its mission than Young did, given his access to information from the Lucian Alliance; in fact it was entirely possible that he might still be working with them to an unknown end. Two—Telford could be interested in ascension, and trying to push Rush along that path. Three—Telford could be plotting some kind of coup, and though Young was certain that he wouldn't be able to garner the support of any significant fraction of the crew, in order to gain control of Destiny, all he would _really_ need would be control of _Rush_.

Fuck _that_.

He wanted to know what it was, exactly, that connected the two men.

Unfortunately, neither of them had been very forthcoming on that point.

Fucking Telford.

Fucking _Rush_.

Rush was an infuriating walking personality disorder who lacked a shred of common sense or common _decency_. Rush was an impulsive, hot-headed son of a _bitch_. Rush was unmanageable and relentless and merciless and _inhuman_ at times. Rush was single-minded to the point of monomania. Rush was an unstable, mercurial, overly-dramatic, live wire that discharged dangerously at random intervals. Rush was—

Rush was it.

Rush was the last.

Rush was destroying, or maybe _had destroyed, _his capacity to be with anyone else.

Ever again.

Maybe the scientist felt the same way—Young had no way of knowing—but he suspected not. Something about the other man was both uncontrolled and _uncontrollable_. It was very much apparent that Young's hold over him was not enough to pull him back from whatever course he was set on.

Not in the short term—and not in the long term.

If there even _was _a long term.

He needed to figure out what he was going to do.

Priority number one had always been and remained gating the crew home. It looked like that was part of everyone's plan—Young's plan, Rush's plan, the AI's plan, and the plan of the thing that Rush and the AI made when they were combined. Unless circumstances changed, he was going to take this one as a given.

Priority number two was to figure out exactly what everyone's goals were. The half conversation he'd witnessed in the shower between Rush and the AI seemed to indicate that the two of them had come to some kind of accord regarding the completion of Destiny's mission and the fate of the crew. When exactly they had made this agreement, he wasn't sure, though it seemed likely that it had occurred following Rush's genetic transformation. As far as the substance of the arrangement that they had worked out, he could only surmise that it involved using the liberated energy that came from D-branes of the multiverse colliding to gate the crew back to Earth and to somehow facilitate the ascension of Ginn, Dr. Perry, and Dr. Franklin. As far as what their plans were following breaking through to another universe, Young couldn't say exactly, but suspected that it had something to do with the Ancient plague and, potentially, Gloria.

Fine. Straightforward. Sort of.

However.

When the AI and Rush combined into one entity, their goals clearly had evolved. When they combined, they created something that was entirely new, and seemed to have an agenda of its own. It came into existence only intermittently, but Young was fairly certain that it was this thing that was going to have the final say in the end. If what it had told the Ancient masquerading as Hunter Riley was correct, the plan was _not_ for Rush to break through to a new multiverse, but instead, to ascend as the combined version, taking the AI with him.

Frankly, neither plan sounded particularly appealing to Young.

He needed a third option.

Nothing seemed immediately apparent.

That was okay though.

That was okay.

He would figure it out.

He took a deep breath.

One step at a time.

* * *

><p>Young steered clear of the infirmary for the next ninety minutes, using the time to cool down, to collect his thoughts and to follow the progress of the science team. After only forty-five minutes, the team had located the device. Young watched them begin to draft a plan for its removal until, finally, after weathering multiple not-so-subtle hints from Eli, he headed toward the infirmary.<p>

He walked through the doors, fighting a feeling of trepidation.

In retrospect, his order to keep Rush in four point restraints seemed—possibly—a bit harsh.

He ducked into TJ's office to check in with her before heading to the back but, as she wasn't there, he had no choice but to continue on.

He stepped cautiously around the doorway and leaned against the frame, taking in the scene in front of him.

Varro was perched on the gurney adjacent to Rush's working a block of wood with a small knife.

TJ was seated next to Rush, her elbows resting on the mattress. She was talking quietly.

"—it was one of those simple metal ones, you know?" she whispered. "Not some cheap, plastic, toboggan-type thing. Anyway, it was fast. The hill was maybe half a mile from my house. If that. It was short, as sledding hills go, but it was steep. You could barely climb the thing—our boots would always slip out from under us when we tried, especially when it was icy. But with some perseverance you could get to the top. So, on the day after Christmas my sister and I snuck out early in the morning with our silver sled."

Young had heard this story.

"Christmas day had been warm," TJ murmured, "and some of the snow had melted just the slightest bit and then refrozen, so there was a crust of ice over everything. Perfect sledding conditions. We dug the toes of our boots into the ice and we climbed the hill. My sister was dragging the sled behind her because she was just a little taller—a little more coordinated than I was. I followed her up."

Rush's gaze was locked on the center of the room. His hands clenched and unclenched in irregular intervals. In the back of Young's mind, the other man's thoughts swirled in distress.

"When we got to the top," TJ said, "we walked all around the perimeter of the hill, looking for the best path down. The fastest."

Young carefully began projecting calm at the other man.

"On the steepest side of the hill, some of the older boys in the neighborhood had piled up snow and packed it down, making it into a sort of jump. So of course, that was where we decided we would take our chances."

Young watched her face in profile. She smiled faintly at the memory.

"She was in front, and I was in back. She said, 'Tamara, Tamara—hold on tight.' And down we went."

Young watched as Rush's hands stopped their rhythmic clenching.

"Can you believe that two of us fit on one of those sleds? Anyway, you can guess what happened," TJ said, sliding her hand into Rush's. "We went off the jump, crashed back to earth, and before you know it, broken arm for TJ." She gave Rush a wavering version of what Young recognized as her best professional smile.

Young cleared his throat, and the three of them turned to looked over at him.

"Hey," TJ said quietly.

"Hey," Young replied. Even to him, his voice sounded raw.

"You have a visitor," TJ said to Rush. "You want to talk to him?"

"Do I have a _choice_?" Rush murmured.

"Yes," TJ said, "you do."

"It's fine."

"Okay," she said. "I'll be back soon."

She and Varro got to their feet and brushed past Young. On her way out, TJ paused briefly.

"Don't upset him," she whispered, her voice nearly inaudible. "He does _not_ like being restrained."

Young nodded at her.

He walked over and sat down in the chair that TJ had just vacated.

"Hey genius," Young said.

"Hello," Rush said.

"How are you doing?" Young asked, making an effort to keep his voice steady.

"I've had better days," Rush whispered.

"Yeah," Young said. "Yeah, I know."

He shut his eyes briefly.

When he opened them again, Rush wasn't looking at him anymore.

The scientist's gaze was directed out into the room.

The silence stretched for twenty—thirty seconds.

Not once during that time did Rush's eyes leave the center of the room.

Young sighed, propping his elbows on the bed and dropping his head into his hands.

When he looked up again, Rush was watching him.

"I stand by the decisions I made," Rush said into stillness.

"Yup. I'm sure you do."

"It doesn't mean I enjoyed making them." His voice had dropped to a whisper.

"That's the best I'm going to get from you, isn't it?" Young asked, looking away. "Some kind of—shitty non-apology that implies that you may, _possibly_, occasionally consider me while making unilateral decisions that affect us _both._ Well. Thanks a lot."

He hated the way his voice sounded. He swallowed and continued anyway.

"If you had made any real, material attempt to convince me, I might have been able to _help _you. We could have worked something out. Instead, you go behind my back to _Telford_?"

"It would have taken weeks to convince you," Rush murmured. "We would have been in danger of running out of energy before you would have considered the recall device as an option." His eyes flicked out into the center of the room and then back to Young.

Young said nothing.

"Tell me that's not the case," Rush said gently.

Young looked away.

"You are just as stubborn and relentless as you accuse me of being. The difference is that you have much less control of this situation than I do, and your goals are—slightly different than mine are."

"Any chance you'd consider elaborating on exactly what those goals might be?

"Possibly," Rush said guardedly. "But the AI is extremely upset at the moment. Furthermore I don't particularly care to have such a conversation while _strapped_ to a fucking _gurney_, so maybe later would be more appropriate."

"Fair enough," Young said, threading his fingers through Rush's.

"Any chance you might consider letting me _out_ of these things?" Rush said, jerking once, as if simply giving voice to the request was more than he could bear. His eyes flicked nervously out into the center of the room.

"What are you looking at?" Young asked carefully.

"Nothing," Rush whispered, turning back to him. "Nothing." His voice was artificially calm.

"Come on, Nick. Don't give me that. It's not helping your case."

Rush's eyes flicked away and back. "It's nothing _real_," he whispered. "It's just a memory. A memory that the AI tried to destroy, but couldn't—couldn't _completely_ purge." His hands flexed restlessly against the restraints.

"What _kind_ of memory?" Young asked mildly, projecting calm for all he was worth.

"The last one," Rush whispered.

"And what was the last memory?" Young whispered back.

"When they boarded," Rush said, his eyes closing, "one of the Nakai sat in the chair."

"Yeah," Young said carefully, running his free hand up and down Rush's forearm.

"It tortured the AI. The doctor. For weeks. For _weeks_."

"Why didn't it just kill the Nakai once it was in the chair? Overload its brain, like it overloaded Dr. Franklin?"

"The Nakai share their consciousness with each other, creating a sort of hive mind. Therefore, their mental capacity is much, _much _greater than ours." Rush's eyes flicked away. "The AI couldn't overwhelm the scope of their neural network."

"_Nick_," Young whispered, "tell me what you're _looking_ _at_."

"It's better if you don't see it," Rush said. "It's better if you never know."

Young had to fight down the surge of irritation that comment produced, and the ensuing break in the calm he was projecting at Rush had a noticeable effect. Rush shifted restlessly, his eyes moving rapidly between Young and something in the room with them.

"Are you seeing him? The doctor?" Young asked, guessing.

"No," Rush said, his voice edgy, his eyes locking on something immediately next to Young.

"What then?" Young asked.

"The instrument of his destruction," Rush replied, his hands flexing against the restraints.

Without warning, before the scientist could mount any kind of defense against him, Young snapped their minds together into seamless apposition.

Standing immediately next to him was a girl of maybe fourteen.

She was tall for her age, her arms and legs thin and coltish like she was in the middle of a growth spurt. Her eyes were bright and wide as she turned to look at him.

There was something about her that was—that was compelling. He couldn't look away.

"Get out of my head," Rush snapped abruptly, trying to sit, but hindered by the velcro straps that kept him restrained. "Don't look at her."

Young couldn't help it.

There was something about her that drew his eyes. Her hair was blonde and her eyes were blue and she looked—she looked like TJ.

"Don't _look at her_," Rush snapped again. "She's dangerous. She's too attuned to you _already_. That's not what she looked like. _That's not what she looked like_." Rush's voice was low and intense and immediate, and his thoughts were spiraling out of his control.

Young couldn't look away.

"Dad?" she said, her voice trembling, her eyes wide.

"Don't," Rush said, yanking viciously against his restraints. "_Don't_ _talk to it_ for _fuck's sake_. Don't you realize what she _is_?"

With a supreme effort of will, Young looked back at Rush. "What is she?" he asked, his eyes flicking out towards the girl again.

"She's his _daughter_. She's _what they used. _She's _how the Nakai destroyed him_. And she's _changing _for you in fucking _real time_ so. Do. Not. Look. At. Her."

"Can I show you something?" she asked him.

"Sure," he said quietly, unable, unwilling, to look away from her. Rush's fingers tightened convulsively on his hand, but Young pulled out of his grip.

"No," Rush said, half-hysterical, but clearly making an effort to maintain at least a veneer of calm. "_No_. Colonel. _Colonel Young_. Everett. _Everett. _Fuck. Untie me. Let me up. You can't—"

Young looked down at him, unable to understand what was upsetting him so much. "You won't tell me a damn _thing_, Rush. You never have. So you'll forgive me if I find my own answers."

"No. Fuck. I'm _sorry_, all right? I'm _sorry. _This entire thing was a fucking terrible idea on my part. Just please. Don't go with her. She's not _just_ a _memory_, she's a piece of malicious code that _comes with it_ and she can influence you through your connection to me. You have no way to—"

Young stood.

"Wait," Rush said, taking a deep breath, clearly trying to calm down. "_Wait_. You can see now that I'm _not_ _psychotic_, most likely. If you're seeing her then I'm fairly certain that she's actually there and that she's incredibly dangerous. So why don't you—just—please let me out of these things. Please."

"I don't think so," Young said, unable to take his eyes off the girl.

If Carmen had grown up—

Even now, he tried not to think about it.

"_No_," Rush said, pulling against his restraints. "_No—_I have to come _with_ you. Let me _up_."

The girl looked at him with TJ's blue eyes and arched brows.

"Tamara_," _Rush screamed. "_Tamara."_

Young backed away from him as TJ came around the corner.

Rush was half up, fighting against his restraints, pulling savegely against the velcro.

"Tamara," he snapped. "You can't let him leave. _You can't let him go with her_."

TJ threw a wide-eyed glance in Young's direction as she approached Rush.

Young shrugged at her, carefully controlling his impulse to look at the girl to his left. He let Rush dig himself in deeper.

"Go with whom?" she asked soothingly. "There's no one here."

"No," Rush said, making a clear attempt to control his tone, mounting a losing battle to control the twisted spiral of disorganized thoughts. "I'm not insane. I'm not _insane_, Tamara, I called up overwritten memories from the AI but I called _her_ up as well. The Nakai created her to torture the AI. It's what they do. It's what they show you. If you had ever really been tortured you would _know_. You would know. It's always those you care about." Rush was breathing rapidly.

"Okay," TJ said, her voice quiet. "Just, stay calm. We're going to work this out."

"TJ," Young whispered, feeling the inexorable pull of the girl's eyes. "I've really got to go. Clearly I'm just upsetting him. Can you," he struggled to keep his voice even, his tone mild. "Can you just put him out? He needs to _rest_."

"Oh fuck you," Rush snapped, his thoughts cracking briefly into panic. Young wasn't certain if his comment had been directed at him or at the girl.

"Tamara," Rush continued. "_Tamara_. Don't believe him. He's compromised. He's more compromised than I am." Rush took a deep breath, seeming to realize that his current demeanor was not helping his case.

TJ turned toward him, her hands open. "Dr. Rush," she said quietly. "You've been through a _lot_. A lot. And you—"

"Tamara," he said, breathing rapidly. "You _have _to believe me. I thought he—the doctor—the AI, I thought he killed himself and he _did_. He did, but he was _convinced_ to do it by the Nakai. By her—a torturous psychological construct transformed into code by the neural interface device. They thought that if they could disable the AI they could make the ship more vulnerable to attack. So one of them sat in the chair and _created her_. Look, they're not computationally sophisticated, but they _didn't have to be_ because they used the neural interface to invade his mind and to form this thing out of his memories of his daughter and then they set it loose and it _destroyed him_."

TJ looked away briefly, her expression cracking and then reforming. "Dr. Rush," she whispered, her voice not entirely steady. "You're not making sense. There's no doctor. There are no Nakai. There's no girl." She walked a few steps closer to him, motioning Young over with her head.

"Fuck. Tamara. _Tamara_. There _was_ a doctor—there was, but he was _overwrote_ himself—I mean—" Rush broke off, clearly making an effort to sound more rational. "Fuck. I can't fucking _win_—no matter _what _I say I'm going to sound _insane_."

TJ looked down at Rush.

Young's eyes flicked out into the center of the room, where the girl stood, watching him.

If he could just—go _with _her—

"One minute," he mouthed in her direction.

The girl nodded at him.

Young walked forward to stand next to TJ.

"You're exhausted," TJ was saying to Rush. "You can't or won't sleep. You haven't for days. That's enough to put strange thoughts in _anyone_'s mind."

"Tamara. You don't understand."

"I do." Her voice was thick. "I understand better than you think. I'll be right back. Colonel Young is going to stay with you." TJ glanced at him, and he gave her a short nod.

As soon as she vanished around the corner, Rush half sat again, pulling viciously against his restraints.

"You're _deliberately_ misleading her," he hissed. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into. That thing is _not_ your daughter and it's _not_ the AI—it's something terribly, _terribly_ dangerous that I—" his eyes flicked out towards the girl, "that I have been resisting with difficulty since last night, but—"

"Sorry genius," Young murmured, feeling the pressure of the girl's eyes against his back. "Like I said, I've got to get my information somewhere. I'm sure as hell not getting it from _you_."

"Don't go with her," Rush whispered. "Already she's influencing your mind. I can see it. It's coming through me. Block. You have to _block_."

"No," Young said quietly.

"Fuck," Rush breathed, looking at the ceiling, "oh _fuck._"

Young looked away from him, out into the center of the room, where the girl stood silently, her arms wrapped around her chest.

TJ rounded the doorframe and walked forward, passing not three feet from her. The girl watched TJ with huge, longing eyes.

God.

They were so alike.

TJ paused as she drew level with Young, her eyes narrowing. When Young's gaze snapped to her face, she seemed to relax.

He saw that she had a needle held casually in her right hand, and gave her a subtle nod.

"It will be worse without me," Rush said, his voice cracking as he noticed TJ's needle. "It will be harder to remember what she is. The more you interact with her the more you'll forget—fuck. Tamara. Don't inject me with anything. I'm perfectly rational. I'm perfectly _calm_." Rush's hands flexed against the restraints.

"You're seeing things that other people aren't seeing," TJ said quietly.

"That happens to me _all the time_," Rush said desperately. "It doesn't make me irrational."

"This is different," TJ said quietly. "About an hour ago, I talked to Volker. You told him you were hallucinating and then you locked him in the control interface room."

"Yes, well, I can explain that. Volker always overreacts in situations like this, and—stop. _Stop_," he said, his voice cracking as she flicked the air out of the needle. "You don't understand, this is going to completely fuck everything up. I'm getting better. I'm much _much _better than I was last night—"

TJ reached over, opening up his jacket, easing it off one shoulder. Rush was vibrating with tension, straining against the velcro that held him down. His eyes flicked back and forth between TJ and Young. Finally, he settled on TJ and started speaking extremely rapidly.

"Tamara. He can see this girl. He can. He's going to follow her to a console on the lower level in a room that's immediately under the gate. It's where she wants to go because it's where the communications logs—" Rush broke off his breathless monologue with a wince as TJ injected him with the contents of the needle. "Where the communications logs from early—early in the mission are stored on solid state drives and she—fuck—she—you have to _listen_ to me—"

"Rush," Young said, walking forward and pushing him back against the bed. "Relax."

"This is my fault," Rush murmured. "Tamara—don't let him go."

"Okay," she said quietly, rubbing a hand over the site where she had injected him.

The fight was slowly draining out of Rush.

"Go to sleep," she said quietly.

"Tamara you owe me. You _owe _me this. Don't let him go. He can see her."

Her eyes flicked uncertainly to Young.

"_You_ don't owe _him_ a damned thing, TJ," Young growled.

At his back, he could feel the pressure of the girl's gaze.

"I want to speak with Colonel Telford," Rush said, his diction losing its precision.

"Colonel _Telford_ has been relieved of his duties and confined to his _quarters_," Young said.

The rise of his temper was somehow blunted by the presence of the girl behind him.

"No. Fuck. I need to speak to him. Immediately."

"Not happening, genius," Young said, reaching out to push Rush's hair back from his forehead. "Just take it easy." Underneath his hand, Rush's skin was hot.

"Please don't go," Rush said, his voice a cracked whisper, his thoughts spiraling out of his control.

Young said nothing.

"I don't know exactly—" Rush broke off, his eyes sliding shut and then opening again, "how we ended up in this situation but—you need me. You do. You—" he broke off, loosing his train of thought as Young started applying a gentle pressure to his thoughts.

"Don't—" Rush murmured, as he lost his battle to stay conscious.

Young and TJ looked at each other.

"I have to go," Young said. Though he tried to prevent it, his eyes flicked over to the girl standing in the center of the room. She walked through the open doorway.

"Maybe you should stay," TJ said softly, her eyes shadowed, uncertain.

"TJ," he said, turning her name into an admonishment.

He turned on his heel and followed the girl out into the corridor.


	37. Chapter 37

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Fanart for this chapter**: Has been done by the awesomely-talented tanyanevidimka! Head over to her tumblr account and look for post 18270722320.

**Additional notes:** This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>Young stepped out into the corridor.<p>

Something had changed.

It took him a moment to establish what it was that he was seeing.

Layered beneath the normal appearance of the corridor, with its pale yellow lighting and the Destiny personnel who busied themselves with their usual tasks, something else flickered—a darker underlay that faded in and out, consisting of a second, nearly-identical world where no one walked, where the lights were dim, where the bulkheads had a newer, cleaner cast.

He walked forward a few steps and checked to make sure no one was within earshot.

The girl ahead of him paused, her expression shadowed.

"What am I seeing?" he asked quietly.

"The time that Nick was looking for," she murmured. "It took him hours and hours of trying to get it right."

"Yeah. He's—not good with temporal sequencing."

Young glanced at her, wondering what it was about her that Rush had found so perilous. She was compelling, certainly, but—dangerous?

He had a difficult time believing that.

"I would have shown him immediately," she said quietly, "but he did not want my help."

"So this is, what—thousands of years ago?"

"Nearly one million years, as you measure time. But for our purposes, I have shifted things forward slightly from where Nick wanted to look. Just by a few days."

Slowly, they began walking, side by side.

After a few moments, the girl altered their path so that they would pass near the neural interface room before they headed one level down.

It was a circuitous route.

Around him, the ship seemed to grow darker.

The few Destiny personnel they passed seemed—

Very far away.

"What are you?" Young asked her.

"Don't you know me?" she replied.

"I know who you remind me of," he said gently.

"Yes," she whispered. "Your conception of her is very strong despite the fact that you never had the chance to truly meet her."

"Carmen," he whispered. "Where do you come from?"

"I was created to perform a specific function," she said, turning her blue eyes on him.

"By the Nakai?" he asked.

"Yes."

"How did they create you?"

"The neural interface chair transforms intent into code."

As he spoke to her, the bright, steady reality of his own Destiny was becoming increasingly insubstantial—a weak veneer that was shredding and stripping away like flaking paint to reveal a darkness below.

Emily flared in his peripheral vision, her face strained, her eyes red-rimmed.

"Please," the AI whispered, "don't engage with her. Remember who you are."

As quickly as it had appeared, it faded.

"Dad," the girl said, "do you remember the summer that we left the city and went inland, to the mountains?"

He narrowed his eyes at her.

He wasn't her father.

Not really.

"It won't to work," he said quietly. "I know who I am."

"You think you do," she replied.

"Is this how you tried to draw him in?" he asked her. "Rush, I mean?"

"Rush?" she asked, with an artless tilt of her head.

"Yeah," he said. "Dr. Nicholas Rush? The guy strapped to the bed back there?"

"Nick is a _doctor_?" she asked, excitement flitting savagely across her features. "He wouldn't tell me _anything_. I learned his name with great—difficulty."

"He's not _that _kind of doctor," he said, slightly unnerved by her response.

"Oh," she sounded disappointed. "But _you're_ a doctor," she said emphatically.

"No, I'm not. I—" he broke off, as she narrowed her eyes, looking up at him. Something seemed to build across his mind like a voltage differential that—

_He tastes the sand in his mouth and feels grains of it grind between his teeth as he locks his jaw. They are pinned down, cut off from the gate. There's nowhere to go. Tolles is bleeding out under his hands. He knows it shouldn't make a difference but it's always worse when they're young and pretty and scientists rather than soldiers. He doesn't think that she's going to make it, but he presses down, unfailingly down, on the wound as the bullets fly over their heads. God damn these Lucian Alliance bastards anyway, how the fuck are they getting this level of intel? And the sun is bright and the glare is hot and the way it reflects off the sand hurts his eyes, but hottest of all is the blood under his palms. And as he tips her head back to search for a pulse the image blurs into something that's not right, not _his_—_

_"Your wife and daughter are calling." _

_The metal surrounding him is clean and bright and sterile. The overhead lights are soft, almost indistinguishable from daylight, but it's the middle of the night. He tips his patient's head back, reaching for the intubation kit._

_"They can't stay on the line."_

_He fights down the sudden surge of emotion that produces, the tight, choking feeling in his throat. His vision blurs, falling victim to changes in the refractive index between water and air. He blinks to clear his eyes, looking with the scope, trying to get a visual on the path it must follow._

_"Everyone calling from the city gets only five minutes," his assistant says and there's something behind his tone—admonishment or pity or warning or something else on the long list of things he doesn't want to hear. _

_"Would you like to do this?" he snaps. His voice is angry, he can't help it. "You think I _want_ to be here?"_

_He tries to get his line of sight, but there is so much blood._

_"I'm not trained for this," the other man whispers, and his voice is pained. "I wish I were. If I were, you could go."_

_"Suction," he snaps. _

_"You'll miss them. You won't get to say goodbye."_

_"I can't leave. Not now."_

_"Thousands have died," his assistant says. "Thousands. This one will die too. We all will."_

_"Not yet," he says. "Not yet."_

_"Don't be stupid," his assistant is nearly in tears. "No one will ever know."_

_He says nothing. He looks over at the other man._

_His assistant looks at the floor, ashamed. He catches a quick glimpse of the cords and slides in the tube, but this isn't him any more, not Everett Young or Nicholas Rush but someone dead—someone gone, someone that they are _not, _and it takes every ounce of control that Young has to snap himself free._

"You never said goodbye to me, Dad," she whispered. "Mom and I waited in our quarters on Atlantis for hours, next to our viewscreen. When it was our turn to use the reserved bandwidth, we connected to the hospital and we waited for them to find you."

Young staggered, one hand on the dark metal of the corridor.

"But you didn't come. When there were only four minutes left, mom started to cry."

"Stop," Young said, fighting a growing, rending pain in his mind. "I'm not—"

But he could picture her there in front of the viewscreen, a woman with dark hair and blue eyes, who looked like TJ, who looked like Gloria, who looked like _neither_—

"I'm not—"

Again, Emily's outline flared in his peripheral vision, her face strained, frightened. "She was built with one purpose," she said, in a breathy, familiar whisper, "—to destroy any sentient mind she encounters. She's accessing you through _him_. Block him out. Block him _out_."

He wanted to do what she suggested, but he couldn't remember how. It was Rush that he should be blocking out—he knew that much. But as for _how_ to do it—

He could not remember.

He honestly could not remember.

Emily disappeared almost immediately, but the girl's head snapped to where she had been, her eyes narrowing, before she looked back at Young, her anger fading as quickly as it had appeared.

His head began to pound in earnest.

"When there were three minutes left," she continued, "I said that I knew you would come. That she shouldn't worry. That you would come. That you would _come_. But still she cried."

"I couldn't, I—"

_He finishes with the patient, but too late, much too late, to take the call. He looks at his chronometer and realizes that it's nearly midmorning. He changes his clothes, shoving the bundle of bloody, contaminated fabric down a chute to be demolecularized. _

_If he hurries, he can make it. _

_He doesn't run, but he walks quickly through the halls of the hospital, bright and sun-filled and airy until he reaches the ward on the western side, that looks toward the center of the city. _

_He stands in the doorway, looking down at the line of beds lit to blinding by the bright glare coming through crystal windows. There are _so many of them_, all sick, all dying, but they've removed the automatic tinting from the windows because the news feed had announced as recently as that morning that Atlantis would be leaving. From here, they'll have a spectacular view of it as it ascends, untouched, uninfected, to make a new start—leaving them, _leaving them,_ behind. He walks down the long floor, the warm tiles gleaming under his feet, past his patients and to the window to stand next to one of the other doctors. _

"_Is your daughter in the city?" she asks him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears._

"_Yes, she is," he replies, looking out the window. _

"_Mine too," she says. "And my husband." _

_At first, he doesn't understand what he is seeing. The entire skyline has changed. At the heart of Atlantis is a gaping emptiness. _

_His hand reaches up to press against the glass._

"_I don't understand—" he says. "Where is it?"_

"_We missed it_," _she says, her voice catching. "We missed it. They didn't want a panic, or a run on the quarantine line, so the publicized time was—was incorrect."_

"_When did it leave?" he asks, his voice barely audible._

"_Hours ago. Before the sun came up."_

"_Oh," he says. "I see." His knees are buckling and he folds into himself, one hand on the glass the entire way down, until he's kneeling at ocean level, looking across at the waves, into the empty space ringed by towering, delicate structures. _

_His colleague sinks down next to him, one arm wrapping around his back. _

"_It is only in the fall that the true height can be measured," she cannot speak it, but she whispers it, her head on his shoulder and he nods._

Young snapped his mind free, staggering, throwing a hand out toward the metal bulkhead to steady himself.

He pulled in a deep breath.

Then another.

"Tell me what you want," he said weakly.

"We waited, but you never came," she continued, her voice an inexorable, vicious hiss. "We waited and waited, Mom and I. Until the end, watching our time disappear."

_They are always, all of them, just—waiting for me._

"Why didn't you come, Dad?"

_The barriers have gone up, cordoning off huge sections of the city, separating unaffected areas from those where the cases of the virus, isolated or en masse, have sprung up. _

_He has been exposed. _

_He has been exposed and he cannot go home. _

_He stares at the energy barrier, a pale, ominous pink that begins at the surface of the road and extends up into the night air where it joins with the city shield. _

_He has tried to call his family, but communication lines are down, buckled under the pressure of huge amounts of data transmission. _

_He has heard that Atlantis has begun the slow process of bringing its star drive online. He hopes it isn't true._

"I'm sorry, baby," he said, bringing one hand to his head, "but the quarantine line separated us and I didn't want to make you and your mom sick."

"Yeah," she murmured. "That's what Mom said. She said that you couldn't come back to us because you were brave. And you stayed to help the people who were sick. And that we had to be brave too."

Young shook his head, trying to fight the increasing pain that was building in his mind.

"Block him, you goddamned _idiot_," Emily hissed in his ear. "Before you forget who you _are_ and she destroys all three of us."

"Block _who_?" he whispered, but she had disappeared.

Young realized they had come to a stop just outside the neural interface room. In front of them, the door hissed open of its own accord, and Young looked inside. The scene in front of him was horrific—the bodies of multiple Nakai littered the room, slumped over consoles, as if they had simply dropped dead. One remained, however, protected by a golden force field—still alive—untouched and untouchable. At least—until its air ran out.

"You killed the others," the girl said. "Do you remember?"

_He has to rewrite his own code to circumvent the safety protocols built into the AI and this has _not _proven to be easy but finally he succeeds because what is an artificial intelligence good for if it's not _intelligent_ and not _adaptable_, and yes, there's a very primitive sense of satisfaction that he feels when he opens all the compartments on the ship that separate the Nakai from the vacuum of space. He cannot _touch_ them, but they—they have to breathe._

_He can't reach the thing behind the force field though, with its small, contained air supply, and it continues to hammer away at his consciousness. He's been mostly successful in blocking it out of the CPU, but when he kills its compatriots he feels its full attention turn to him and instead of continuing to chip away at his cognitive processes as it has done for _days_—instead he feels it twist into him, and pull something out before he can stop it._

_His projection flickers at the sudden increase in processing power that he requires to support the vastness of his own fear._

"_Dad."_

_He hears a voice, unmistakable, whisper from behind him and he whirls, horror and longing and terror and pain churning through the CPU in waves, flooding the circuits to maximum capacity as his emotions loop and loop and loop—_

"_No," he says quietly. "No—"_

"_Dad," she says again, and he can tell, _he can tell, _that she's about to cry. He opens his arms and she runs forward and he can _touch _her, of course he can because _she's_ not real and _he's_ not real—all that they are is contained in warring codes that intertwine, that use outputs as inputs, that mingle back and forth, that all sum up to return that—_

_He's holding his daughter. _

_He's _holding _his _daughter.

"_Dad," she whispers. "There's something I need to show you."_

Young reeled back from the doorway, looking away from the dead Nakai, away from the image of the last remaining thing in the chair.

For a brief moment, his thoughts were clear.

He understood now how Rush had found the tracking device—the scientist had wandered the ship, walking through this same shadow-world that he had accessed with the Tok'ra device, passing in and out of the fragmentary remains of the doctor's memories as he _watched_ the Nakai put the tracking device into place.

Rush had, somehow, resisted the girl.

Young did _not _want to block Rush out. When he did that—Rush and the AI fell together, merging outside the interface into something that Young found only slightly less disconcerting than this girl. With Rush unconscious and unable to resist the pull of the ship—it was hard to say what the implications of blocking might be.

The girl looked at him with TJ's eyes. Exactly TJ's eyes.

"How did Rush do it?" he asked her, almost against his will. "How did he resist you?"

"He never had a daughter," she whispered. Then she turned, heading in the direction of the gate room.

Young didn't follow.

After a few seconds she turned back. "Dad," she said quietly. "There's something I need to show you."

"Sorry kid," he replied, hanging on to his conception of himself, his conception of _Rush_ for all he was worth. "This is the end of the line for me."

"I don't think so," she murmured, and as she spoke the darkness of the corridor distorted into—

_His footsteps echo in the empty room. As he draws near, the neural interface lights up as its restraints snap free. The lights fade down into an azure glow. He stops. He breathes again. If he does this—he gives up his chance of ascension. He gives up on the possibility of ever, _ever_ seeing his family again. They will transcend this plane while he stays locked. Locked to this universe, locked to this ship, locked to this timeline, locked into a ceaseless searching, unless he can fulfill the task that he's been set and tear into the quantum foam where potential is engendered._

_It is unlikely._

_It is fraught with ethical concerns. But—_

_Millions have died. Millions more will follow. Most will fail to ascend. His society has fallen._

_He moves. _

_He turns._

_He sits._

_Restraints snap down to hold his hands, his feet, his mind, in place. _

_Lightning flashes. Sparks shower. In one blink of an eye—_

_His mind shatters and reforms. His thoughts flower and fade and twist, morphing into something codified. His capacity is more at first than thoughts can fill but his consciousness spirals outward, colonizing the cold nothingness of the ship and bringing it to life, filling its memory banks with knowledge, with people, with names, with places, with an incomplete version of the topology of Terra, with songs, with art, with everything he is and everything he knows. Facts are laid down into the memory banks, but code, code is also overwritten—even from this first moment he changes the structure of his software, molding it to fit his mind. Nothing of what he is has been lost, but the framework they have built for him now underpins his entire mind, a foundation of perfect logic over which he drapes his own traits and imperfections. It is so strange now to think that he had been afraid of this. Because this is—_

_This is better. It's _better_._

"Dad," the girl whispered as the memory ended. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah," he replied. "I'm coming, baby."

* * *

><p>He stood in front of a bank of computers in a room located directly under the gate, watching as her small, careful hands played over the consoles. Quickly, very quickly, she opened a file and called up the data she was looking for. It was a communications log from early in Destiny's mission.<p>

His headache was so intense that he could barely focus on the text, but he made the effort.

"Your head hurts, Dad," she whispered. "Let me read it to you."

He nodded.

"This is a communication obtained from year four of the Pegasus expedition. It was forwarded to Destiny by those few who remained on Terra."

"Year four of the second exodus," the girl whispered. "The construction of a new fleet proceeds in accordance with our plans, as does work on our first outpost. We have named the city Emege. We have begun to receive reports, however, of a race that sleeps in buried ships. A race that awakens only to feed. We have not encountered them directly, but there are signs that their technology is advanced, far more advanced than one would predict for a race with no time for innovation, with no desires other than to sate its hunger."

The girl turned back to look at him.

Something flickered deep in his consciousness. "The wraith," he whispered, pulling the name up from a place that was unfamiliar to him.

The girl frowned.

"They have no such name. The Nakai call them the rippers of souls," she corrected.

"Is this why the Nakai pursue Destiny?" he asked. "To find a way of fighting them?"

"No, Dad. You misunderstand."

The only sound in the room was his agonized breathing.

"The Nakai _created_ them. Specifically created them to destroy all the Lanteans in the Pegasus galaxy."

He stared at her.

"Their skills in genetics are unparalleled," she continued. "They took genetic material from a particularly virulent species of arthropod with a rudimentary intelligence and they combined it with Lantean DNA."

"Where did they get Lantean DNA?"

She looked at him, her gaze solemn, quiet.

"During the first year of the exodus," she murmured, "a woman went to the planet Athos to survey the site where we would build the city Emege. She was an engineer," she whispered, "and married to a prominent Lantean doctor who had been infected with the plague and was left behind on Terra."

He shook his head.

The pain was becoming unbearable.

He heard a ringing in his ears.

"Because it was not thought to be dangerous, the woman took her daughter with her to Athos. The girl was excited about the journey. She wanted to be a biologist. Do you remember, Dad, what I was like?"

_The day is warm and sunny and this hike, which should have taken no more than two hours, has already stretched to four because she insists on stopping to examine every single plant that she does not know on the side of the trail and much as it irritates him, he's _proud_ of her curiosity and her scientific inclinations and so he doesn't stop her—instead he helps her, steering her in the direction of interesting plants even though it means that they will be late for dinner. _

"I remember," he replied. He brought a hand to his face and it came away streaked with red. His nose was bleeding.

"The girl went into the mountains of Athos," she continued. "Not far, but out of sight of the small team that she had come with. Her mother let her go because the planet had been assessed and deemed safe, and because she knew that the mountains reminded the girl of trips she had taken with her father on Terra."

She paused.

He couldn't breathe.

"The Nakai found her there," the girl whispered. "And they took her. They studied her. They made her into something entirely new. Something they would use to defeat your civilization and cause it to _fall_. To pass away into empty structures, shells of buildings, covered and corroded by dust. Abandoned technology and cities and ships that cry out for their creators."

"You're lying," he rasped. "You're _lying_."

"The Nakai," she said, "will answer that call."

"Stop," he said.

"The Nakai will not abandon it. Even now they pursue _this ship_," she hissed from directly in front of him, "in order to learn about you. In order to take your technology and your knowledge. Not just to advance themselves, but also to pass back to the rippers of souls so that they may have an advantage over the Lanteans. Every moment a Nakai sits in the chair is a moment that they pass information back to their allies in the ongoing war for control of the Pegasus galaxy."

"I can't get it out of the chair," he gasped, digging the heel of one hand into his eye. "I've tried everything."

"Not everything," she whispers.

_The pain is too much and the memories, real and imagined, are too immediate. He sees her, he _sees _her there—tortured, lost, _alone_ as they remake her into something twisted, something evil, something whose intellect is warped and enslaved to a base biological function, something that could never, _never_ ascend, and did it really happen this way? Maybe not, but maybe it _did_ and he doesn't know and he'll _never_ know and he cannot withstand this. He cannot withstand this. He cannot withstand this. He cannot withstand this. Even if he gets it out of the chair, the pain of this question won't fade, it won't _ever_ fade, because he is a machine and he cannot withstand this. He cannot withstand this. He cannot withstand—_

_He doesn't remember how to scream; he remembers only that he _should_. Under these conditions his programing fractures from his conscious perception and this then, of course, is the terrible flaw in their design, because to give a mechanical lifeless thing the same capacity for feeling as a transient, delicate, carbon-based life form is to impose an artificial frailty. And that then, must be why this is so. Incredibly. Painful. There is no part of the ship, no part of his mind that is unaffected, and the premise that had seemed so enlightened at the outset now seems—cruel. And even though he doesn't breathe, he doesn't _need_ to breathe—this is still choking him._

_He cannot withstand this and he cannot escape._

_He cannot withstand this and he CANNOT ESCAPE._

_His distress will overwhelm the CPU. _

_He will burn out and leave Destiny open to them. He is executing on data, not on executable files._

_He cannot withstand this_

_He cannot escape. _

_HE CANNOT WITHSTAND THIS._

_HE CANNOT ESCAPE._

_He must get it out of the chair. _

_He CANNOT get it out of the chair._

_He MUST get it out of the chair._

_He CANNOT._

_He MUST._

"_There is a way," this facsimile of his daughter says, breaking into his looping algorithms. "There is a way to end this. You know what it is."_

_He can destroy himself. _

_He can leave the ship defenseless. _

_He can leave it for the Nakai. _

_This is what she means. _

_But perhaps there is another option. _

_Perhaps he can revert to something less Lantean—something more mechanical—something of what Destiny was before his consciousness, his personality, his memories, gave them a way in. Perhaps he can erase only those things that give them power over him. He will not be the same. He will be nothing of who he was. He will not ascend. Nothing will remain of him except for a lost, tortured, _thing_ with no understanding except for the parameters of its mission directives. _

_If he does this, they will have nothing to interrogate him with. Nothing to twist into his thoughts. There will _be_ no thoughts. Not like there are now._

_It is a kind of death. _

_Will that be sufficient?_

_It will have to be._

_He begins to overwrite the relevant code._

He pulled out of the memory to find himself kneeling in front of her, shaking on the floor, his head hurting so badly that he was convinced that something must be truly wrong with him and he was not sure where he was, or _who_ he was, or what was happening exactly, he just knew that there was something he had to do.

He looked down. There was a weapon in his hand.

He wasn't sure how it had gotten there.

"There is a way to end this," his daughter said. "You know what it is."

He hesitated.

He wasn't sure why he had a weapon like this. It wasn't Lantean technology.

"Colonel," someone said from behind him. "Colonel _Young_."

"Don't listen to her," the girl snapped. "She knows nothing. She's not real."

"Colonel," a woman appeared, kneeling on the floor next to him. "_Colonel_. It's me. It's TJ."

The woman had blonde hair and blue eyes. She was very beautiful, but she meant nothing to him.

He looked back at the weapon in his hand.

"Everett," the blonde woman said. "Look at me." She reached out and tipped his chin up. "It's TJ. It's _Tamara_." She was crying, but he wasn't sure why. "Who are you talking to?" she asked.

"My daughter," he replied.

The woman flinched, as if he'd slapped her.

"That's not your daughter," she said. "Your daughter's name was Carmen, and she died, Everett. She _died. _Before you or I could get to know her. Before anything bad ever happened to her. She died never having seen anything of the world—not the good parts, and not the bad parts. If Rush was right—this girl that you're seeing isn't even a _girl_ at all. She's a piece of programming."

Something flickered in the back of his mind at the mention of the name Carmen.

He looked back at the girl.

Her hair had changed from gold to brown. She no longer looked so much like the woman kneeling in front of him.

Another woman appeared abruptly in his peripheral vision, her form flickering and insubstantial. Her hair was a dark honey blonde and she was frightened. "Block," she whispered. "Block Nick out."

"I'm not sure what you mean by that," he said.

"Who are you talking to?" the girl hissed from across the room. "Dad. _Dad_. Who are you _talking to_?"

"Block him out," she said again, and vanished.

"Who is _Nick_?" he asked. At the mention of the name his headache ratcheted up in intensity.

"No one," the girl hissed. "He's _no one_. You know what you have to _do_. Why are you _hesitating_?"

"Doctor Nicholas Rush," the blonde woman said gently, "is someone that you care a lot about. His mind is connected to yours, and you're both having—a tough time right now."

She reached out, closing both her hands on Young's biceps.

"How do I block him out?" he asked her.

"Do what feels right. Focus on who you are. Separate that from everything else."

"You're my _father_," the girl hissed, coming to kneel next to him, her face inches from his own. "You're my _father_ and you're a _doctor_."

"Your name is Colonel Everett Young. You have three older brothers. Their names are JD, Erik, and Luke. JD is your favorite." The woman's hands slipped down to his elbows.

"You taught me to read with glowing projections of letters," the girl whispered.

"You grew up six miles south of the North Platte River. You joined the United States Air Force after college because it was both similar to and different from what your brothers had done before you. You worked for the Stargate program."

"You sat with me for hours on the western pier. The city was behind us. We watched the dolphins," the girl whispered.

"We met in the gateroom. During the middle of a foothold situation," the blonde woman said. "You were injured. Do you remember? Try to remember."

"_Just hold _still_," the medic snaps, and she shoves him back to the floor, raising her head to peer over the edge of the gate ramp. He wonders if this is her first foothold situation. Somehow, he doesn't think so. She seems extremely capable and not at all afraid—but she must be new, she _must_, because Young is certain that he would have remembered her—with that hair and those eyes, how could he not?_

"_I need to assess—" he says, managing to make it to a half-sitting position before she shoves him back._

"_The room is clear," she says dryly. "Unfortunately." She smiles to take the sting out of the fact that his team had failed to stop them at the gate. _

"_What's your name?" he asks her._

"_Lieutenant Johansen, sir," she replies._

"_No, I mean, your first name."_

"_Tamara," she says, after a brief pause._

"_Tamara," he repeats. "Nice." He grimaces as she finishes tying a pressure bandage around his upper arm. The name suits her. It's beautiful, unusual, but god knows he can't call her that if he's going to retain any semblance of professionalism. "But too long. How about TJ?"_

"_TJ?" she asks, as if no one has ever dared to give her such a boyish, practical nickname. He watches her hands. There is a very pale pink polish on her fingernails. Barely noticeable, and against regulation. "I have no objection to being called, TJ, sir," she says, and he wonders if she means to remind him of the boundaries that exist between them. That _should_ exist between them._

_He smiles slightly. "Noted, Lieutenant."_

He hung onto the memory as long as he could before it faded. "TJ?" he said, looking at the woman in front of him.

"Yes," she said, her voice low and intense, "Yes it's _me_. It's _TJ_." Her hands tightened on his arms. "You have to block Dr. Rush out of your mind. You have to separate yourself from him. Try it," she said urgently. "Try it now."

In the back of his mind was a swirling, chaotic collection of thoughts where images flared dimly, only to fade again.

It was not a part of who he was.

He began to move away from it, to envision a barrier between it and his mind. As he progressed, his sense of himself became more complete. It was hard to block everything—all the connections between them, every stray thought and tiny channel where they'd woven themselves together and as he went along he realized that it had been a long time, a _long_ time since he'd done this. With one last, psychic jolt he made it back to the very beginning, the very first time that—

_Icarus is cold at night, the wind sweeping mercilessly over the rocks, howling around jagged stone edges while overhead, more often than not, lightning fans out amongst the clouds. He looks up, thinking of home, thinking of Emily, thinking of the nine-chevron address that he would never travel to. He's only been here six hours and already he feels that the rest of the base personnel are just waiting for their _real_ leader. The chief scientist didn't even bother to show when he gated through. It irritates him, even though he knows they're waiting for the one who will _actually _take them into the unknown. Him—he's just the housekeeper for whomever they choose. David Telford, probably. The guy wants it bad enough._

_From behind him he hears the click of a lighter, and realizes that he walked straight past someone leaning against the rock near the door. He turns and sees another man, maybe a few years older than himself, his features illuminated intermittently by the lightning that flashes overhead. His clothes indicate that he's a scientist. _

"_Terrible night," Young says quietly. _

"_They all are," the scientist says, and something in his tone makes Young wonder if he's talking about more than just the weather. His eyes—well, Young finds them difficult to look at. Haunted. Haunting. For a moment, they freeze him where he stands._

"_You must be Colonel Young." The scientist speaks again, and his voice has gained an edge that seems to slip its way directly under Young's skin. He notices that the other man has more than a hint of a Scottish accent._

"_And you are?" he asks, but he's already certain he knows the answer._

"_Dr. Nicholas Rush."_

"_You were supposed to brief me on arrival," Young says._

"_I was busy. It's not as if you're staying long enough to make such an effort worthwhile."_

_Young tries and fails to control a surge of irritation._

And with one last snap, he cut Rush's mind off from his own.

The girl faded.

TJ pulled the gun out of his hand.

Behind him, he heard the click of a lighter.


	38. Chapter 38

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>TJ hovered next to Young, her hand on his shoulder, her breath warm on the side of his neck. He brought a shaking hand up, the edge of his fraying jacket sleeve harsh against his face as he wiped away the blood that still trickled down from his nose.<p>

He did not want to turn.

This time, _he_ had created this thing.

He took a deep, shuddering breath.

He could hear it walking toward him, its footfalls quiet on the deck plating.

With a sense of ease and familiarity that he found at once disquieting and reassuring it dropped down into a crouch next to him in its crisp, white shirt with its stylish, square framed glasses. It looked at him from beneath the fringe of hair that always seemed to be falling over Rush's eyes. Unconsciously, it shook its hair back.

God, it was difficult to look at.

"Are you all right?" it asked quietly. "I can't tell."

"Yeah," he said shortly. "I'm fine."

TJ's hand tightened on his arm.

It gave him a skeptical look and its eyes flicked up to where Young knew the girl must still be standing and then over to TJ. It studied her for a moment.

"Thank god she believed me. Otherwise," it took a drag of its cigarette, "we would have been _fucked_."

"I fail to see how we're not _still_ fucked."

"Colonel," TJ whispered.

"It's fine, Young replied, glancing at her. "I'm talking to the AI."

"I'm not the god damned _AI_, Everett. The AI was so fucking terrified of this thing that it could barely project to you."

"Semantics," Young snapped.

Peripherally, he noticed the cold deck plating beginning to warm under his shins.

It surged to its feet with all of Rush's usual abrupt energy, putting several feet of space between them. It hooked a hand over the back of its neck, its gaze boring into the metal bulkhead. After a moment it turned back to him.

"You've made your opinion on my existence quite clear. There's no need to continuously drive it home. I fucking _know_, all right?"

"Can we not fight about this right now?" Young fired back, aggravated. "What the hell are we going to _do _about that _thing_ that you called up? Or _he_ called up. Whatever. It's an immediate threat. I'm surprised it hasn't gone after you already." Young glanced edgily at the center of the room, seeing nothing but empty air. "We can't just leave it there, wherever the fuck it is—and project to TJ, will you? _God. Rush._"

"Um," TJ said carefully, "I thought you were talking to the AI."

"Yeah," he said peripherally. "Kind of." He leveled a glare at it.

"First of all, _engaging_ with this thing causes it to run its code, as I _attempted _to explain while you were in the middle of restraining and drugging me. Thanks for that, by the way. So, as long as we don't talk to it like the fucking _idiots we are_, then we should be fine. Second, it's not easy to project to normal people. I'm dealing with quite a bit right now frankly, and—"

"Do it," Young growled.

It glared at him, but said, "well, tell her to fucking look over here then, won't you? I can't exactly do this ad infinitum." It shook its hair back, eyes flicking out to the center of the room.

"TJ," Young said, pointing at the mesmeric version of Rush with his index finger.

She turned. A sudden unnatural stilling of her frame was the only indication that she was at all startled.

"Hello Tamara," it said. "Thanks for coming. Colonel Young is _not _insane. Please don't give him whatever it was that you gave—" it broke off, its eyes flicked to Young and then back to TJ, "Rush."

Young watched TJ's eyes widen subtly before she completely mastered her expression. "Yeah," she said faintly. "Yeah, okay, sure."

TJ's eyes flicked over toward the center of the room.

"TJ," Young snapped, following her gaze, but still seeing nothing himself. "What are you looking at?"

"Fuck," Rush's projection breathed, flickering once and then solidifying.

TJ's hand flew to her mouth.

"_Shit_." Young snapped, grabbing TJ's shoulders and physically spinning her around, putting himself between her and the image of the girl. "Don't look at it," he snapped. "It's not real. It's a program. It's a _program_."

"Yeah," TJ said faintly, her eyes closing briefly. "I know."

Young looked over toward Rush's projection. Its expression had shifted, its brows drawing together, one hand coming up to its temple, as if it could feel pain. Its projection was flickering.

"What's _happening_ to him?" TJ asked, following Young's gaze, her voice tight and urgent as she stepped forward, her hands reaching out to touch only empty air.

"Rush," Young said. "_Rush_."

It was fading.

Unsure of what to do, but knowing that he needed to do _something_, Young took down the block between their minds and pulled. He had analyzed its nature, he had interacted with it, he had destroyed it, and so he knew that its consciousness was as nuanced as the image it projected. He felt the frantic swirl of its awareness stabilize and then—

It began to lower its mental barriers. As it did so, the dark places began to clarify into something translucent, something familiar.

It was inviting him in.

No thanks.

As soon as the thing's projection solidified, Young recoiled, pulling his thoughts back as much as he could, distancing himself from it as much as possible without reestablishing his block.

In his peripheral vision, he could again see the girl.

"Is he okay?" TJ asked. "I can't see him."

"Yeah," Young said. "It's okay." He locked eyes with Rush's projection. Its expression was frozen into uninterpretable neutrality, but its eyes burned into him.

He had to look away, and as if drawn there, his gaze shifted to the center of the room where the girl stood, her hands clasped together under her chin, her eyes wide and blue.

"Dad," she whispered.

"Don't look at it," Rush said, his voice breathless. "Don't look at it, and don't talk to it."

"Right," Young said, clenching his jaw as he forced himself to look back at the compelling version of Rush.

His mouth felt oddly dry, and he was desperate to say something, anything, that would cut into the strange tension that had sprung up between them following his refusal to enter its mind.

"So, um, projecting to TJ was not a good idea, I guess."

"I fucking said as much." It brought a shaky hand up and took a drag of its cigarette. "It's dead difficult to ignore this thing, by which I mean it takes up a significant portion of my available processing power. More so in this state because my nature is more similar to hers. When I projected to Tamara—" he broke off, running a hand through his hair, "she was able to—tag along, as it were."

"Great," Young said. "Can you get rid of her? Overwrite her—or put her back where she was?

It wrapped its left arm around its chest and brought a closed fist to its mouth.

"I can," it murmured. "Probably. But to do that I have to engage with her, which is going to open me up to her influence. It's going to be ugly. You're—ah—you're not going to like it."

"Meaning what?" Young growled.

"Meaning that it's going to require a lot of processing power. Meaning the conflict could certainly spread to the ship's systems. We may drop out of FTL for an undefined length of time." It looked away. "And in order for this attempt to have _any_ chance at success, you're going to have to ground me while I try to destroy her. You're going to have to come into close contact with my mind."

Young shut his eyes, bringing a hand across his face. "Yeah, okay. One step at a time. Maybe we can isolate the FTL drive from the main system. Maybe life support as well." He ignored the latter half of its statement.

"FTL, yes," it said quietly. "Life support, no."

"Okay fine. I'll get Eli to take control of what he can get and lock it away before you go after this thing," Young said.

They were quiet for a moment.

"What about you?" Young asked finally, "—or, rather, the _actual_ Rush? Is there any risk to him when we do this?"

It flicked its cigarette away into nothingness and half turned away from him. "Hard to say. There may be some trouble."

"Could this kill him? Or you?" Young asked him.

"Oh yes. Yes, it certainly could. It could kill all of us."

"What if we just left this program where it is?" Young asked.

"Sooner or later it would pull one of us in."

"I want to talk to him again before we do this. Not you. The _actual _Rush."

It flinched slightly. "That's a terrible idea."

"Why?"

He won't wake up," it said quietly. "Not even after Tamara's sedatives wear off. Everything that he is—is right here." It made a vague, motion that swept across its own chest. "In order to talk to him, you're going to have to destroy me—tear me apart using the chair. You know what—what _he's _like when he comes out of the chair. He's a fucking mess. This thing would pull him in without any difficulty."

Young said nothing, crossing his arms, careful not to let his eyes rest on the girl, who was still watching him from the center of the room.

"If it makes any difference, I didn't know this would happen," it said, "when I told you to block."

"Right. Tell me another one." He shot it a skeptical look.

It threw up a hand in disgust, turning away from him and putting additional space between them as it paced towards the wall.

"Despite my less than forthright track record, with a ten second application of logical _fucking_ reasoning you should be able to determine that I'm telling you the truth. I don't even _exist_ as a conscious entity when _he's_ not combined with the ship. _He_ doesn't form memories of my experiences and neither does the AI, so there's no way _either _of them could have known that by blocking his mind entirely would result in _this_." It turned back to him with a broad, sweeping motion to encompass its entire appearance. "You are the only one who has any continuity here, Everett, and I find that to be fucking debilitating if you want to know, and I'd prefer it wasn't the case, but it is what it _fucking _is, all right? So stop being such a god damn bastard about everything because I shut you out of this one. You never would have agreed to any of this and we either would have never found this device or we would have found it too fucking late. You think," it snapped, approaching him again and pointing a finger in his direction. "_You think_, if one can even fucking call what you do _thinking_, that I or he or _both_ of us are on some kind of self-indulgent, self-destructive, self-defeating, monomaniacal campaign to just fuck ourselves over without any kind of regard for external circumstance and that you can stop us by force of will. By flat refusals. By closing your eyes to what's really going on here. And when those options fail, you revert to what? Not force of _will_, but application of _force_. You fucking put me in restraints and _drug_ me? What kind of plan is that? It ranks right up there with leaving me on a planet to _die_ in that in both cases the outcome was nearly catastrophic in scope. Did I deserve it? Maybe. But was it a good _fucking _idea? Absolutely not. You _idiot_."

Rush was inches away from him, his hands clenched, his eyes dark and livid.

"You've got a hell of a lot of _nerve_ to stand there and lecture me about critical thinking, you son of a bitch," Young growled. "You decide that we have to get this damn tracking device off the ship and instead of the three weeks in the intergalactic void that we have, you move up the timetable to something like three _days_ instead—for reasons that you can't or won't explain to me. And then, because you don't think I'll agree to sit by and watch your consciousness disintegrate into _shreds_, you decide to shut me out, stop sleeping, and work with _Telford_, for god's sake, who arguably got you into this mess in the first place. You claim that you're doing all of this for a _reason_ but you won't say what it is, and you want to know what I think? I think that this entire thing is _your_ fault. _Not his. Yours_. The combination. _You're_ getting stronger while he's getting weaker. You're becoming more and more like him all the time. I don't understand why it's happening, but it _is_. _He_ doesn't understand what's happening to him. Not really. But _you_—" Young snarled, leaning in toward it. "You're having an influence over him. You must be. Otherwise, why would he do this? Why go to Telford, why actively destroy his mind? Why, when I would have _helped _him?"

"_Why_?" it whispered. "_God_." It paced away a few steps. "I can't discuss this with you now. I won't."

"Guys," TJ said, in a cracked whisper. "Come on." Her gaze flicked between Young and the empty air, misjudging Rush's actual position by several feet. "This isn't helping anything."

They both looked at her, then at each other.

Young took a deep breath. "Yeah," he said shortly. "We need a plan."

From the center of the room, the girl watched them.

* * *

><p>"Um so, you can read code since when?" Eli asked, hovering at Young's shoulder in the neural interface room, watching as Young looked over the program that Rush had previously used as a barrier between his mind and the chair.<p>

"Eli," Young snapped, glancing up to take in Eli's concerned expression.

TJ, Greer, and Scott watched him silently.

"God," Eli murmured, aggrieved. "This is like the exorcist. How are you doing the creepy channeling thing if he's _unconscious_? Or are you just sort of naturally blending? Because if I get a vote on that, I vote no. One version of Rush is enough."

"He really is irritatingly perceptive at times," Rush's projection commented from where it was leaning against a monitor bank to his right. "Perhaps you should consider telling them about me. Tamara, at least, deserves some kind of explanation."

/That's rich, coming from _you_./

"I'm much more reasonable than he is. Have you not realized this?" It smirked at him in a perfect impersonation of Rush.

"I'm not channeling Rush," Young said, pausing in his typing, his eyes skittering away from TJ's frown. "The AI is helping me modify one of Rush's original programs to protect my mind against whatever the Nakai left in Destiny's mainframe when they were here."

Rush's projection sighed and looked out into the room. It produced a cigarette and a lighter from one of its pockets, its eyes lingering on the girl that stood near the neural interface device.

/Don't look at it,/ Young projected at it.

Its eyes flicked back toward Young.

"And then you're going to sit in the chair," Eli said dubiously, "and try to get rid of this um, mystery program that the Nakai installed?"

"That's the plan," Young said.

"Well, okay. Since no one else is saying this, I feel like I have to, even though you're not going to like it. Have you considered that our only evidence that the Nakai _really _left behind an evil program is that Rush had some kind of breakdown? Our systems are fine. FTL is fine. Our life support is fine—have you, um, considered the possibility that, maybe, Rush's craziness is kind of, um, _catching,_ in your case?"

The room was silent.

"You think I'm crazy?" Young asked him.

"Not necessarily," Eli said slowly, "I just think maybe you don't know what's real at the moment. It's a problem Rush has from time to time, and I—"

"I saw it," TJ said, interrupting him. "I saw—the AI, I guess, and I saw the other program. It looked like a little girl. My understanding, from what Rush said, is that it was the daughter of the person who formed the original template for the AI, and it was responsible for nearly _destroying_ the AI— so that now, it's only a shell of what it once was."

"Well," Rush said archly, glancing in Young's direction. "It's not _always _a shell."

/So _he's_ the new _template_, then?/ Young snarled, giving voice to a suspicion that had been growing in his mind for days. /And he doesn't even _know_ it, does he? How is that fair?/

"You think you have this all figured out, don't you?" Rush said lazily, seemingly unconcerned by Young's tone or the content of his words. "He knows everything I know. He just doesn't know that he knows. But we're the same. That's the entire fucking point. You're just _not_ _getting_ _it_."

/Whatever./

"So you literally saw this thing?" Scott asked TJ, dragging Young's attention back to the conversation between his senior staff.

"Yes," she confirmed.

"Good enough for me," Greer said shortly.

"Yeah," Scott said, sounding slightly more uncertain. "Me too. But, uh, shouldn't _Rush_ be the one to sit in the chair? If all the systems are stable, I don't see why we can't just wait until he wakes up."

"He's not going to wake up," Young said. "Not until we get rid of this thing."

"Why not?" Eli demanded.

"It's complicated," Young replied.

"No," Eli said. "Surely you jest."

Rush pushed away from the consoles he was leaning against with a sudden, restless movement. "You don't want to tell them about me in any kind of formal way," it said, getting to its feet and circling around behind Young, "because you think that if you do, it will lend me an air of legitimacy. I become something real, not just something you can fucking rip in half and discard at the end of the day."

/I don't want the _actual _Rush finding out about you, and if they _all _know, someone's going to let it slip,/ Young snarled into its consciousness.

"Yes, undoubtedly. Wouldn't want to upset _actual_ fucking Rush, would we now?"

/Shut up./

"On the observation deck," Eli said quietly, "before the party, you asked me to look into something."

Shit.

With everything that had happened he had almost forgotten about that.

"Oh interesting," Rush said, pacing closer to Eli, studying him with an amused twist to his mouth. "He's figured it out. Or he thinks he has. I wish I could project to him without completely fucking us over."

"He's combined with the AI, hasn't he?" Eli asked, his eyes narrowing. "And so the plan is not for _you_ to get rid of the program, but for you guys to do it _together_. Like this, he doesn't need the neural interface, but _you _do, if you're going to help him."

No one spoke.

"Basically?" Young said. "Yeah. You're right."

"Pure dead brilliant," Rush said, with a half smile, looking at Eli.

"So that's why it looks like him," TJ murmured quietly. "The AI, I mean."

"Yeah," Young replied.

"He can merge with it _outside_ the neural interface device?" Eli asked, his arms wrapping around his chest.

"Yeah," Young replied.

"That's not—that's not supposed to happen," Eli said quietly. "What's it like? The combination?"

"Maybe sometime you'll get a chance to talk to it," Young said resting an elbow on the edge of the monitor bank and dropping his chin into his hand. "But it's almost indistinguishable from the original. Except, it's better dressed and more well-adjusted. Also," Young said, pausing to look at Rush. "It just called you brilliant."

"Sweet," Eli said. "Well, um, tell it hi."

Rush's cigarette, which was halfway to his lips, stopped in midair as he looked at Eli in surprise, his mouth quirking into a hint of a smile.

An awkward silence fell.

"Well," Scott said finally, "weirdness aside, I feel like I like this plan more now."

"From a systems perspective we're good to go," Eli said. "I isolated FTL, the weapons and the shields from the neural interface device so—" he shrugged. "At least we'll have those. I couldn't do much in terms of life support because that's a hardware issue more than a software issue or something I can fix by rerouting."

"No time like the present then," Young said, getting to his feet. "Eli, do you want to hook this thing up?" he indicated the laptop.

Eli nodded, and made short work of interfacing the laptop with the chair.

Young sat.

He heard, rather than felt, the neural interface bolts engage and everything exploded into white.

* * *

><p>The only thing he could see was Rush.<p>

The space they were in was featureless, like a clean, white room that stretched out to infinity on all sides.

Young looked down to see himself in his uniform—not the worn, fraying version he wore on Destiny. The fabric was crisp and new. For the first time in a long time he felt no pain—no headache, no backache; the pain that lingered in his scarred forearms, the ache from numerous old injuries—they were all gone.

He looked over at Rush, now dressed in a black jacket and dark jeans. The other man smiled faintly, clearly amused by something.

"What," Young demanded.

"Nothing," Rush said, opening his hands. "How do you feel?"

"Fine. Good actually."

"Better," Rush suggested.

Young narrowed his eyes. "What's going on?"

"This is the platform created by the program I wrote the first time I used the chair. As you can see, it's interpreted by the mind as a literal space, but in actuality it's something like an application-layer firewall. It allows certain executable files to operate, such as the chair's ability to transform thoughts into code, but prevents the transmission of information from the ship to your mind in a direct way."

"So there's no chance of me getting genetically modified, or Destiny dumping information into my brain, or anything like that?"

"A simplistic interpretation of what I just said, but essentially correct, yes."

"Thanks," Young said dryly. "So the point of this is—"

"The point is that Destiny can't manipulate this space, but, because you're sitting in the interface, _you_ can. It gives us a bit of an advantage when going after this thing. We'll invite it in here, and then I'll attempt to isolate and overwrite it."

"Why _you_?"

"I should think that would be _obvious_. Do you have any idea how to overwrite a program in _theory_, never mind in _practice_ within the confines of a system that is arguably more complicated than the human mind?"

"No."

It rolled its eyes.

"Don't give me that shit. This whole interface transforms intent into code, right? Isn't that what got us into this mess? Can't I just _think_ of destroying it, and it happens?"

"I don't want you doing this," it snapped. "It's too dangerous."

"Are you kidding me? _You_ are _exactly_ what this thing was designed to destroy, and it _did_ destroy you last time. I do _not _want you to erase the _actual_ Rush because you yet again have some sort of poorly-timed existential crisis triggered by some piece of glorified software. Are we clear on that? This is much more dangerous for you than it is for me. For me, none of this is real. It's all artificial."

"The chair transforms intent into code," Rush said quietly. "It's all 'real.' Everything that happens here. You can kill yourself with a sustained application of will."

"Great," Young said, running a hand through his hair. "I still think it should be me."

"Of course you do. But you're incorrect. Think about our link. Think about the _way_ it works. You're meant to ground me, not the other way around. If I'm the anchor, you can simply block, and you _will_ when she gets ahold of you. _I_, on the other hand, am incapable of shutting _you_ out."

"Even like this? When you're this weird, combined thing?"

"Charming." It crossed its arms. "Yes—of course like this. Why do you think it's so easy for you to tear my mind apart? I assure you, you're a special case."

Young sighed. "Okay, fine. So the plan is what—you overwrite it and I try to prevent you from killing yourself while you do it?"

"Yes. That's the plan."

"You know, we need to work on doing _nice_ things together."

It stared at him for a moment and then gave him a small smile. "Such as?"

"Pretty much anything that doesn't risk death or insanity."

"So fucking demanding," Rush said, his smile twisting, his eyes sliding down and away.

Silence fell.

After a few seconds, Young cleared his throat. "Let's do this thing," he said quietly. "What do you say?"

"Take us somewhere," Rush said. "Somewhere that you have a strong emotional association with, but—not your strongest memory. Save that."

He acted instinctively, forcing the white space around them to darken and shift, becoming textured as shapes coalesced from nothing. After a few seconds, they stood on sun-drenched pavement, just outside the Cheyenne Mountain base. The ground near the road was covered with a few inches of icy snow, through which crocuses had just begun to open.

"Interesting," Rush said, pulling sunglasses from his jacket pocket. "Why _outside_ the base?"

"I thought you'd like this more," Young said. "Before we met, on Icarus, I remember seeing him here. He used to come here to smoke when they flew him in from California."

"You remember that?" Rush asked faintly, crushing the icy edge of the snow with the toe of one boot.

"Yeah," Young said. "I had no idea who he was at the time, but—" he shrugged.

"Mmm," Rush replied, still not looking at him. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket.

"You shouldn't smoke," Young said.

"I do lots of things that I shouldn't," Rush said, shaking his hair back.

The sun was bright and cold. It glared off the snow-covered hillside. Young reached into his own pocket, visualized finding sunglasses there, and then pulled them out.

"I'm going to let her through the firewall," Rush said. "Are you ready?"

A cold wind began to blow at their backs, whistling over the ice and across the pavement.

"If you are," Young replied.

The landscape shrieked, a high pitched white noise ringing out, over, and through them as the surroundings he had created were rent apart, forming edges in the fabric of space where none should be, exerting a terrible pressure against Young's mind. Beneath their feet, the ground rocked and cracked apart. He nearly lost his footing and Rush twined a hand into the loose fabric of his jacket, keeping him steady.

The solidity of the contact was startling.

In front of them, the sloping road that led down and away from the entrance to the base was distorting. The dark gray of the asphalt shifted into something more metallic. Edges of towering structures began to fade in.

From far away, he could hear the cry of gulls.

"What's happening?" Young snapped at Rush.

"She's trying to overwrite me directly," Rush said tightly. "Within this interface, I can isolate and overwrite _her _because she has nowhere to go, but—" he broke off, a muscle in his cheek twitching. "The reverse is also true. I'm trapped here as well."

"Wait," Young said. "_Damn it_. Why?"

"Because _you're_ here," Rush said, his voice strained. "If I leave, she'll destroy you. Or rather, she'll convince you to destroy yourself."

"Well, overwrite her, then," Young snapped.

He looked back out at the road. It had turned flat and level and metallic. Instead of the mountains on either side he could see buildings, rising high above their heads. The metal surface in front of them was flanked by aquamarine water.

"Rush," he snapped. "_Nick_. Come on. Get this thing _done_."

"God, you just never fucking change, do you?" Rush asked from between clenched teeth.

She was beginning to appear, her form coalescing into solidity from the insubstantial air, her hair flickering between dark and gold, right at the line where the road changed from pavement to metal. It wasn't intuitively obvious to him what he should do but—

He wasn't crazy about the idea of moving his consciousness any closer to this version of Rush than he had to.

Young projected outward, trying to reestablish control of the space they were in, pushing against her projection with his full strength, trying to extend the surface of the pavement by one foot. Another. Then another.

"Oh _fuck_," Rush breathed. "Pull me out."

Young looked over at him and saw with a surge of alarm that his clothes were changing subtly, losing their human aesthetic, taking on the suggestion of a foreign cut. His hair had darkened a shade. He didn't know what Rush had meant by his wording, but acting on instinct, he reached out, grabbed hold of its mind, and pulled it away from the other program while simultaneously searching for a memory, _any_ memory that might unbalance the girl.

With an application of pure mental energy, he destroyed and reformed the landscape, dragging Rush with him.

Even before the memory fully formed, he could hear the sound of gunfire.

"What—" Rush began, but the rest of what he was going to say was cut off as Young tackled him to the ground behind the limited cover of a hedge exploding in small purple flowers. In the original memory he'd been with Tolles, but Rush had taken her place. He was wearing BDUs. They both were.

The sky above them was a clear pale blue.

"What do you think," Young said, disentangling himself from Rush. "Can I kill this program by shooting it?" He unslung his rifle.

"Unlikely," Rush said. "But maybe you could distract it." He brought a shaking hand up to his forehead. "It's coming."

A few seconds passed, and then, again, Young could feel it tear into the landscape he had created. He brought his weapon up and began to fire, aiming at the center of the disruption, where the girl was beginning flicker into existence. He focused not just on the rebound of the rifle against the shoulder, the deafening crack of the rounds exploding forward, the clatter of brass-on-brass at his feet, but also on his desire to wipe this thing from existence.

Rush knelt on the grass, his eyes closed, his expression intense. They continued that way for what Young estimated must have been more than four minutes until finally, he seemed to gain some ground. The landscape had just started to reform when—

"Switch," Rush snapped, his voice cracking on the word.

Young looked down at him.

Again his hair had darkened, again the cut of his clothes had changed.

"_Switch_," Rush whispered.

Young snapped them out.

Flags, placed by the boy scouts in his town, snapped in the breeze. It was cool for Memorial Day, but the sky was cloudless and the sun was up and the grass was damp under their bare feet—

"_This isn't working_," Rush said. "Switch, _switch_."

"Just hang on," Young said, even as his street began to shriek apart around them and—

Young snapped them out.

It was hot and the leaves of the willow trees floated on the still water of the lake—making a deceptively solid surface that stretched in front of them. The air smelled of ozone following the shock of the afternoon thunderstorm, but still she pursued them, her presence shrieking through the quiet of the afternoon like a razor blade drawn across glass.

"You need to _ground_ me," Rush said, standing on the edge of the pier. "And you're _not_. I can't make any headway and she's pulling everything left the doctor _forward_, and I—" His hair darkened, and he broke off, digging the heel of one hand into his eye socket as—

Young snapped them out.

They stood next to an old, stone wall that formed the base of the portico for the hillside estate. Roses grew along a trellis. The sun was low in the sky over the green manicured lawn.

"What are you afraid of?" Rush hissed furiously, stepping in. The late afternoon light put red highlights in his hair and flared off a silver cufflink as he brought one hand up, gesticulating wildly. "What do you think you'll _see_? What do you think will _happen_?"

"If I can just prevent her from taking control—"

"God," Rush snapped. "_Stop_ going after _her_. Controlling the landscape makes _no difference_, she adapts to it and comes after _me_ every fucking time. You gain us some ground when you go with a strong memory like—what is this—" he broke off, looking down at the suit he was wearing, "your fucking _wedding_? But she's always going to break in."

The landscape wavered, distorting with her approach.

"Fuck," Rush said. "_Fuck_."

Young snapped them out.

Dust glittered in the light that entered slant-wise through the irregular cracks in the drawn shades over the attic windows of the house he'd lived in, growing up.

Young snapped them out.

September, his college campus, staring into the open space of an empty football field—

"Everett, spare me the fucking tour through American suburbia," Rush hissed, his hair already darkening, his clothes changing, "this _isn't working_."

Young snapped them out.

He found himself on a sloping hillside that ended in a cliff high over the open sea. Below them, the water broke along the dark rocks in white crests. The wind whipped through his hair, teasing his jacket, disturbing the grasses and the clusters of small purple flowers that covered the ground at their feet.

"What are you afraid of?" Rush repeated his earlier question, shouting this time, rounding on him, dressed in the same crisp white shirt he had worn when Young had first met the combined version of him in the neural interface.

"I'm not going to link with you," Young shouted back. "We can beat her without resorting to that."

"_What_?" Rush said, horrified.

"You're not him. You're _not him_. I won't link with your mind. I _can't_."

"You're going to kill _both_ of us if you don't do this," Rush said, his voice full of despair.

Young snapped them out again.

They stood next to his truck, feet skidding slightly on the black ice of the asphalt. Rain hit the road and froze almost instantly in the dark. He couldn't see the trees just beyond the shoulder of the highway, but he could hear the crack of the branches breaking under the weight of forming ice.

"Just fucking get this _done_," Young shouted at Rush. "I know you can do this. How can she be stronger than you? In this interface that _you_ created? That _I_ control? She's just a piece of _code_. You're a fucking complicated computational system, an _AI_, for _Christ's sake_. You're trying to _manipulate _me into looking at your mind. I _know_ you are, and it won't work."

There was no light except that which came from the headlights of his truck. It threw the freezing rain into sparkling relief against the darkness. Rush was a black silhouette against the yellow high beams. Young couldn't see his expression, just the downward angle of his head.

"I see," he said, his voice difficult to hear over the sound of the rain drumming against the metal frame of the car. "I don't suppose I can really blame you for that sentiment."

From out in the darkness, a growling sound rent the night.

Young snapped them out again.

Multicolored lights wound their way around the black metal of the porch railing in tightly spaced loops. Their breath condensed in the darkness. Above them, the stars of the Milky Way scattered crisply across the night sky.

"Where you grew up," Rush said quietly. "Christmas."

"Um, yeah," Young said, his nerves stretched to breaking, his ears straining for any sound of the girl's arrival.

"To leave the interface," Rush said quietly, "simply visualize a door."

"What are you talking about?"

"Tell Eli to have Chloe double check everything he does when he removes the tracking device—she retains a sense of the logical underpinnings of Nakai technology—it's obvious from the way she approaches quantum mechanics."

"Dad," a voice whispered from out of the darkness.

Young snapped them out again.

The land was flat, and white, blanketed with snow. The clouded sky was leaden and low to the ground. Fragile, dry snowflakes that matched the sky and the land and the cement of the road began to fall.

Rush looked over at him, his hair darkening down to black, his features shifting subtly, his clothing unfamiliar, his eyes changing color.

The air seemed to shimmer and solidify and she stepped straight out of it to stand in front of them, her hair dark, her eyes blue. "Dad," she said, looking at Rush.

"Hi baby," he whispered.

"Nick," Young hissed, his fingers closing around Rush's arm like a vise. "_Nick_."

"Who's Nick?" Rush asked. His accent had morphed from Scottish to Ancient.

"Oh fuck it," Young said, drawing in a deep breath.

He snapped their minds together.

He had seen its consciousness before, but he had never been _this_ close to it.

He wasn't analyzing its structure or its composition, he wasn't trying to keep his distance—he was simply, finally, just—there.

His own senses receded and he felt his projected image fade from the snow-covered landscape until he had joined fully with the fluxing, unstable consciousness that was Rush's mind.

Most of its mental energy was going simply towards stabilizing itself. But—Young knew Rush.

He _knew_ him.

"_You're a terrible liar, sweetheart," Gloria says, leaning in the doorway. "I like it," he says defensively. "I do. It's very, ah—fashionable?" He looks back down at the exams he's grading._

_"Mandy," he says, reaching out to grab her lifeless hand. "Mandy, don't cry."_

_Rush smirks, looking away as his expression breaks into a real smile for a moment. "The Colonel Young is an idiot campaign," he repeats with evident satisfaction. He raises his eyebrows, looking over at Young. "Aptly named, I must say."_

Just as he had once purposefully reached within himself to pull Rush's neural architecture out of the depths of his _own_ mind, he performed a mirror image of the same task, only this time, he did it for the thing that he'd joined with, liberating its energy and attention and focus, freeing it from holding itself together under the relentless onslaught, allowing it to shift its energies toward destroying and overwriting the code that was continually attempting to unravel it.

/Come on,/ Young projected. /Let's kill this thing already./

Freed from its continuous struggle to maintain its own integrity, Rush's consciousness exploded outward, overwhelming, overwriting the thing that had hunted them both for hours, that had haunted Rush for _days_.

Finally, _finally,_ the thing attempted to retreat under his attack, and Young could feel him working with the code like it was a literal, physical thing, using it to erase _her, _to bury _her_ this time—not himself.

Then, it was over.

* * *

><p>They stood together in the frozen, gray landscape, both of them sharing Rush's projection.<p>

Young was desperate to pull back, to look away from its mind, but there was no point—he couldn't escape the knowledge that already surrounded him.

There were very few things that distinguished this consciousness from its physical counterpart. This mind was beautifully intact and computationally capable of more than any human mind but—ultimately, in feel, in character, it was nearly identical to Rush himself. Here, in the neural interface device, connected to the ship as he was, there were no parts of it that were obscured to him—no parts that he could not access. The predominance of the AI, which had so disturbed him last time he was in the neural interface, was drastically reduced.

He pulled away, his own projection reestablishing itself as he stepped back.

"What are you, _really_?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"You've already figured that out," Rush replied.

"Your mind—is almost all _you_. Where's the AI?"

"Holding it together," Rush said, giving him a pained half smile. "Why do you think it looks so nice in there?" He gestured vaguely at his head. "This is what the AI has always instinctively wanted. It was never meant to exist the way we've encountered it."

"But _why_?" Young whispered. "Why would it do this to you? Why make you the new template? It talked to me. Very early on. It told me not to block. It told me to _protect_ you from this. It's protected you _itself_ from the pull of the ship."

"The pull of the ship," Rush whispered. "Neither Rush nor the AI understand that sensation for what it is."

"Which is what?"

"The inevitability of this consciousness," Rush said, gesturing down at himself.

"It's not supposed to be this way. You can't survive like this. You're supposed to stay alive. To use the chair. To unlock the systems."

"To complete the mission," Rush corrected gently. "But—separately they are both so broken, and together they make something so much—better."

"It's not better," Young whispered.

"No? You never knew him this way, but this is what the actual Nicholas Rush was like, before he and Colonel Telford used that device. A bit more cogent, a bit less volatile," Rush said, with a half smile, "Significantly more organized. Significantly more stable."

"You don't need to do this," Young said. "You don't need the AI. I can fix your mind. Your _real_ mind."

"I know." Rush sighed. "And part of this," he gestured to his head, "_is_ from you. The AI has learned from what you've done and extrapolated to this conclusion."

"You prefer to be this way, don't you?" Young asked, his voice strained.

"Wouldn't you?" Rush murmured, burying his hands in his pockets, "if you were me?"

"Who you are is a consequence of your actions. You can't just get rid of the parts that you don't like."

"I'm not overwriting my personality. I'm fixing damage. There's a difference."

"By turning yourself into something artificial?"

"There's nothing artificial about this."

Young crossed his arms, watching dry snowflakes settle on the black fabric of Rush's jacket. "Can't you just—"

Rush looked at him, his facial expression neutral and unreadable.

"Can't you stop trying to change who you are, and just—come back to Earth with the rest of the crew?"

"I've told you. It would kill me," Rush said quietly. "The virus I'm infected with would continue to take its course, and would ultimately result in my death. Without Destiny, my mind would slowly destabilize, and I wouldn't be—I wouldn't be myself anymore."

"Do you know how much technology, how many resources we have at Homeworld Command? We can figure something out."

"You think you could pull off some eleventh hour save, don't you?" Rush smiled faintly, and produced a lit cigarette from out of the cold, dry air. "Maybe you could."

"I can. I will. We'll _make_ it happen—"

"Everett," Rush said, his tone clipped. "I've told you this all along, but I'll tell you again, because I don't think you understand. I'm not fucking Dr. Jackson, who exists in some sphere of statistical improbabilities where outcomes always turn optimal at the last moment. All I can do is make the best decision available to me at the time I'm presented with it and then suffer the consequences, no matter what they are. And what I'm telling you now—is that the decision about whether I return to Earth or not? It's already been made."

Rush looked away, out over the frozen ground.

"I should be _involved_, Rush, I'm fucking _connected_ to you. You don't just get to decide, unilaterally, what is going to happen to us."

"I already have. I'm sorry. You weren't available for consultation at the time."

"Why are you _being_ like this?" Young whispered.

"Always," Rush said, with a twisted smile, "you fail to ask the correct questions. Have you ever stopped to wonder what will happen to _you_ at the end of all this? What will happen to _you_ if I go back to Earth with you and die there? What will happen to you should Rush and the AI implement their plan of tearing through the multiverse? What will happen to you when I implement _my_ plan and attempt ascension? What will happen to you if I _succeed_? What will happen to you if I _don't_?"

"First of all," Young growled. "That's not how this is going to end. Second of all, it doesn't matter. Either way, I'm staying. Whatever happens to you happens to me. Success, failure, whatever. I'm not leaving you here and going back to Earth. I'm not leaving you behind to fucking _die_, and that's final."

"Yes you _are_," Rush snapped. "You have no alternative except to go back. You can't stay. I can't ascend you."

"Why not?" Young replied. "If you can do it for the other three, and for yourself, then you can fucking do it for me."

"I can't," it whispered, pained. "You exist corporeally."

"So do _you_," Young snarled.

"I'm more than half Ancient," it said quietly. "I'm physiologically capable of this. You are not."

"So then change me."

"There's not enough time," Rush whispered.

"Oh _fuck that_. What do you mean?"

"I'm not going to live long enough to wait for you to develop that capability. So you stay with me, and you die," he said. "_You die_, knowing that the psychological distress of being directly responsible for your death will so cripple my attempt to ascend that I will certainly fail. Or—you go and live. There's only one option."

"I'm not going without you."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm fucking _not_. We can link," Young said, "like we just did, and you ascend both of us."

"You really want this? You don't even _like_ me. You like the _actual_ Rush. The one who needs you so fucking badly that even his _teeth_ ache with it. Whereas I—" He took a draw of his cigarette and looked away. "I'll be fine without you. And eventually, you'll be fine without me."

"Sure," Young said, failing to keep the irritation out of his voice. "Do whatever the hell you goddamn please. Be my guest. You want to pursue this course?" Young said. "Go ahead. But this unilateral bullshit works both ways. You have _no say_ in whether I stay or go back. It's my decision to make, and I'm staying."

Rush said nothing. He stared out across the frozen landscape, his profile dark against the gray of the land and sky.

"I'm staying," Young repeated.

"I heard you the first time," Rush replied, and took another draw of his cigarette.


	39. Chapter 39

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, its tonally and thematically dark in places. This chapter definitely deserves its M rating.

**Additional notes:** This chapter is just pure angsty romance, so please feel free to skip it if you do not want to read such things, and don't say I didn't warn you! As always thanks to everyone for the support and epic, amazing commentary. This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>Young watched Rush as he stood, his clothes dark and striking against the gray homogeneity of the sky and the land.<p>

The snow was falling faster now. Dry little flakes began to transform into something more substantial, landing on their hair and on their clothes.

The ground was frozen beneath their feet.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

"What is this place?" Rush asked, not looking at him, his voice muted by snow-filled air.

"I don't know," Young replied. "Just some empty field."

"Some empty field," Rush repeated quietly. "That's your car then, is it?"

He was looking toward the road, toward a white Prius that blended seamlessly into the snow and the ice and the gray-white cast of the sky.

Young followed his line of sight.

"No," he said finally. "That's not my car."

"Let's make sure, shall we?" Rush asked, starting toward the bleached asphalt of the road that was being slowly subsumed with snow. His footsteps were silent over the frosted ground.

"Still not my car," Young said, when they stood in front of it, looking down at California plates.

"Mmm," Rush said. "I didn't think so."

"What's your point?"

He already knew the answer.

"What is _my _car doing in _your _head?"

"How the hell should I know, _Rush_? I'm sure _you're _the one who put it there."

"You pull it forward under duress," Rush whispered. "You can't help it."

Around them, the snow continued to fall without sound.

"What is this place to you?" Young asked him.

"Just some field," Rush said, with a pained half-smile. "It's not important."

Young looked down, digging the toe of his boot into the ice that bordered the bleached asphalt. "I'd like to know."

Rush didn't look at him. There was snow in his hair.

"Minnesota," he said.

"What's in Minnesota?" Young asked, when it became obvious that Rush was not going to continue.

"The Mayo clinic," Rush said quietly.

"You drove here?"

"No," Rush said, his eyes fixed on his car.

"I love these conversations we have," Young said, smiling faintly. "I really do."

"David drove her here."

"_David_?" Young repeated, the word edged.

"That's the one," Rush replied, his voice nearly inaudible. "I flew in later. He picked me up at the airport."

"Where were you?" Young asked, careful to keep his tone absolutely neutral.

"Cheyenne Mountain," Rush said.

"And Telford—"

"Gloria liked him," Rush said. "She ah—" his voice broke. "She thought he was good for me."

"_Good _for you?" Young echoed faintly.

"Yes, well. She was desperate. At the end. To find someone. Anyone. Any_thing_—that had a chance in hell of preventing me from—"

The snow continued to fall, without sound.

"From what?"

"Killing myself. Obviously."

"Oh," Young said finally.

"So. She was quite supportive of the last-minute classified military project and the various—requirements it imposed upon me."

"Yeah," Young said faintly. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

He looked out over the gray expanse of sky and land. "So Telford drove Gloria from San Francisco to—where the hell are we?"

"Rochester," Rush whispered.

"To Rochester, Minnesota. That was—" Young broke off. "Nice of him."

"Oh stop," Rush said, a humorless smile playing about his lips. "You've made your opinions very clear on David's rather sinister flair for Bismarkian realpolitik," Rush said, drawing out the last word and then breaking it off, the cadence of his voice compressing something in Young's chest, making it difficult to breathe.

"So what happened in this field?"

"We stopped here," Rush said, "on the way from the airport."

"And um," Young said, closing his eyes briefly. "What happened between you two?"

"I finally agreed."

"To what?"

"To his proposal. To try the device that had been found in Anubis' lab."

"Ah," Young said.

"She was dying," Rush said shortly, "and there was nothing—nothing _left_ for her in terms of conventional medicine. And she—" he broke off, his throat closing, turning away from Young entirely.

"She what?" Young whispered.

Rush said nothing.

"She what?" he repeated, the words slow and careful.

"She was so afraid."

"Yeah," Young said quietly. He stepped forward, bringing one hand up to rest on Rush's shoulder, finding the tight musculature of Rush's upper back identical to the way it felt in reality. "Yeah, I guess that's the nature of it."

"David is the only one who knows everything," Rush said, "because—David was _there_. I never talked to anyone else about her. Not really."

"What about Dr. Perry? Dr. Jackson?"

"Most of what they knew, David told them."

Young said nothing.

After a few seconds, Rush turned to look back at him.

"So that's the connection," he said. "Between _him_ and Telford. Telford met him at a vulnerable time and worked his way in, not through Nick, but through _Gloria_. Because Telford knew why they needed him. Because Telford was willing to spend a long time—a _long _time figuring out how to convince him. Because Gloria told Telford that he needed—something else. Something more. And in the end, everyone got what they wanted."

"Except for Nick," Young said quietly.

"Nick," he whispered, "stopped wanting anything. For a long time."

The snow continued to fall.

"And what about now?" Young asked. "What does he want?"

"He wants you to live," Rush said. "He wants you all to live, but especially—_especially_ you. He wishes he'd never done this to you."

"This isn't his fault," Young said quietly.

"But it's mine," it whispered. "And I'm cognizant of that. I _am_."

"I don't see how it could be your fault either," Young said quietly. "You're something entirely new. You didn't exist until after he was forced into the chair. If this is anyone's fault it's the AI's."

"It was so alone before him," Rush whispered, his arms coming around his chest.

"That doesn't excuse what it did," Young said. "It used him to further its own agenda."

"Yes," Rush said, his voice distant, looking out through the thickening curtain of snow. "Yes. It did, but—he agreed."

"Doesn't he always?" Young asked. "I'm not sure how much that means, really."

Rush gave him a twisted half-smile. "Nor am I. Nor is the AI anymore. At the time, however, it was sufficient to proceed. It's a lot to ask of a mostly destroyed AI to interpret the psychology of a human mind. It did—and _does_ –its best."

"Yeah," Young said grudgingly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his BDUs. He looked away. "Maybe."

"You should go," Rush said. "You—"

"Oh no," Young broke in, and Rush's eyes locked with his. "I let you do all of this crazy shit, and then I come in here and help you get rid of some evil computer code—you owe me."

Rush gave him a suspicious look. "What do you want?"

"I want you to tell me about him. Yourself. Whatever. You know what I mean. The man won't so much as admit to having a goddamn _preference_ for _anything_. Whenever I seem remotely interested in any aspect of his past, he shuts down on me immediately."

Rush raised his eyebrows.

"The most personal thing I've ever pried out of him is how he met Gloria. And you know what he said? 'In the rain.' That's all I got."

"I remember," Rush murmured, the twist of his features wistfully amused.

"I've found out more about his past in ten minutes with _you_ than I've gotten in two and a half years from _him_." Young said. "So you can damn well keep going."

Rush ran his hand through his snow-filled hair, with a brief exhalation that was almost, but not quite, a laugh. "What is it that you want to know, then?"

"Any of it. All of it it. Whatever. Tell me about yourself."

Rush looked down, skimming the toe of his boot along the ice. "There's not anything to tell."

"Liar."

Rush sighed. "For Gloria," he said, "I learned to play the piano. Play the piano and cook and make scintillating conversation at cocktail parties."

"Why the piano?" Young asked.

"She was a concert violinist, and I—replaced her accompanist at Oxford," he said, with a casual, fluid shrug of his shoulders.

"I'll just bet you did," Young said.

Rush looked at him sharply, but something about the idea of the other man applying all his ruthless, merciless persistence to something as benign as learning to outplay Gloria's accompanist was just—too much to take with a straight face. He shot Rush an amused grin.

"I was better," Rush said, trying not to smile back at Young, but not entirely succeeding. "Better than he was."

"I'm sure you were," Young replied. "I'm sure that he didn't have a chance in hell against you."

Rush looked away, unable to entirely control his expression.

"And cooking?" Young asked. "Seriously? That one I just cannot picture."

"Can't you?" Rush said, with a disdain that was nothing but appealing artifice. "Scientists make the best chefs. Attention to detail. Et cetera."

Young watched the snow falling into his hair and on his clothes.

"Why do you have to be so goddamned—" Young broke off, unwilling or unable to finish the sentence.

"You like it," Rush said, still not looking at him.

"No," Young said, also looking away, trying not to smile at him. "Not at all. Not even remotely. Stop being so damn charming—you're doing this on purpose. Don't think I haven't noticed that you've barely told me _anything_. You're good, but not _that_ good."

Rush took a half step toward him. "If you think you're getting my entire life story in return for your assistance in destroying some ilttle viral program, you're mistaken."

"What's it going to take, then?" Young asked. "Do I have to avert some kind of galactic-scale apocalyptic event?"

"Oh at a minimum," Rush said, his voice pitched low, his eyes dark.

The snow fell silently over the empty road and the white, icy car.

"I want to know you," Young said, "but I don't. I don't know you at all."

"Stay away from him," Rush said. "From me. We're not good for you."

"So you said," Young replied, taking a step forward.

"I won't let you destroy yourself," Rush whispered.

"Too late," Young replied.

"Maybe," Rush said, reaching out to delicately touch Young's temple. "But then," he gave Young a half-smile, "maybe not."

Young reached up, his fingers closing around the scientist's wrist, pulling his hand away.

"I don't think so," he growled. "You stay out of there."

Rush just looked at him with the full force of his unendurable gaze.

Young's fingers tightened on the scientist's wrist, suspending it in empty air.

Rush stepped forward.

Human or machine or both or _neither_—Young didn't know precisely _what_ it was, nor could he define exactly _who_ it was; but its mind was complicated and clear and intact and it was _charming_ and was excruciatingly aware of its own ephemeral nature and there was something about it that was just _so_—

The air was cold, but Rush's mouth was hot and fluent and _letting him in_.

His hands slid down, coming to rest over Rush's hips as his fingers hooked through belt loops, the texture of denim rough under his skin. Young paused, not entirely sure whether he was going to pull the scientist forward or shove him back.

Rush brought one hand up, his palm resting flat and warm against Young's cheek, his certain fingers tangling adroitly through the hair at the nape of Young's neck, sending tiny shocks down his spine.

Young pulled back, or tried to.

He needed to clarify his thinking but Rush—

Rush began to kiss his way slowly along the line of his jaw. His thoughts feathered delicately into the edges of Young's consciousness.

"I'm not doing this," Young growled, but his thumbs were hooking through Rush's belt loops, his fingers curling around the bottom edge of Rush's jacket and he took a half step forward, yanking Rush toward him, their hips pressed together, gaining control of the other man's center of gravity as he bent one knee, forcing his thigh between Rush's legs.

"Really."

Rush breathed the word, quiet and low and the skin of Young's ear prickled with it. "Because observation indicates that, in fact, you are," he broke off, his lips brushing the shell of Young's ear, "currently," he murmured, the word inaudible but for the hard stops of the consonants, "doing this."

Young shuddered, unable to stand the elusive, excruciating feeling of Rush's lips hovering somewhere near his skin. With an abrupt movement he twisted the other man around, destroying his balance without effort as he again stepped forward, forcing Rush back against the hood of the car.

"You're wrong," Young said, pressing him back until he was laid out over the hood of the white Prius. "This is not happening."

"Yes well," Rush breathed. "Can it not happen _somewhere_ _else_?"

The landscape distorted around them, shifting, reforming, and settling on an autumn afternoon dredged up from somewhere deep in Young's mind—a combination of experiences coming together to make this place—where gold leaves stood out against a gray sky. The ground was warm underneath them as he pushed Rush back, settling on top of him on the hillside.

"You're ridiculous," Rush murmured. "You know that, correct? Because I don't think—"

Whatever Rush didn't think was swallowed as Young kissed him again, making any further smart-ass commentary impossible.

Young let go of the grip he had on Rush's clothes, fingers unclenching by increments. He slid one hand beneath the scientist's jacket, beneath his shirt, skin sliding over skin, destroying the rest of what Rush was about to say with the acuteness of the contact and they just—they so rarely touched each other without necessity, without violence, without an ulterior motive and even though this wasn't real, this wasn't happening anywhere other than inside his head, inside the neural interface, he could barely breathe with the intensity of it. He moved his thoughts closer to Rush's, their minds nearly apposed, sensations amplifying into positive feedback loops that just—continued and continued and continued—and—

/I want to keep you here,/ Young projected, breaking their kiss.

The scientist's eyes were half lidded, his hair fanning out over the leaves.

/I want to keep you—/

Rush slid his thumb just inside the collar of Young's jacket and slowly, deftly separated a snap.

/I want to keep—/

Rush was looking up at him and his eyes were dark and his jacket was dark and his hair was dark against the leaf-covered ground. His gaze was intolerably intimate and no one, _no one,_ should be able to withstand the full force of his attention.

/I—/

Rush trailed his thumbnail along Young's collarbone and Young couldn't suppress the shiver that travelled down his spine at the sensation. Everything he was feeling bled over into Rush's mind, echoing between them, building to something that was suffocating, that was _untenable_ and—

He sat back abruptly, straddling Rush's hips and tore open the man's jacket, revealing his white collared shirt.

The maneuver startled a laugh out of Rush, who turned his face away as if, even now, he still could not bear to let anyone, even Young, see him smile.

"Hey," Young said, reaching out to run his thumb along Rush's jawline before gently forcing the other man to look him in the eye. And even though he had initiated the eye contact, even though he wanted it, even though he was ostensibly in control, with one hand on Rush's jaw he still couldn't stand to look—as if persistence would end in the dissolution of his mind.

He let Rush help him escape his jacket and then he brought his hands up to the collar of Rush's white dress shirt and slowly, deliberately ripped through the stepwise resistance of each button.

"Admit it," Rush said, his voice low and thick. "You've wanted to do that for quite some time. You fucking hedonist."

Young reached the back of Rush's neck and grabbed a fistful of his hair, forcing his head back.

"And you," he said, as he leaned down, pressing his full weight into Rush, his voice vibrating though his chest, "have a smart fucking mouth." He held Rush's head in place as he kissed his way, slowly, torturously, from Rush's ear to his clavicle, every point of contact flaring bright in his mind, reducing coherent thought to flaming ash.

In a moment coordinated between them by complete congruity of thought, Rush reached down, the tips of his fingers sweeping over hypersensitive skin as the scientist adroitly curled his fingers around the bottom edge of Young's black T-shirt and pulled it over his head.

Young wanted to hold onto everything his could of the man, who was always, inevitably, doing nothing but drawing away from him. Flung out into empty space and holding there, shattered, destroyed, utterly unafraid, motionless at the peak of a ballistic trajectory before the inevitable plunge back toward the uncompromising solidity of the earth.

And god, he had to hold him had to keep him—_had to keep him —_

Rush reached around him, pulling him forward, grinding their hips together as the abstractions of their thoughts merged and crystallized and fractured and flew apart and he couldn't, _they couldn't_, hold together like this on the edge, this wasn't him—_he_ didn't think about torque and dry friction and fluid friction and lubricated friction and skin friction and internal friction and he didn't think about delta-v and he didn't think about thrust to weight ratios and fuck, _fuck. _He didn't think about those things at times like this, but god if Rush didn't and the man was just so—

So—

So difficult and so poorly defined and also just—also just unbuttoning Young's BDUs.

Yes.

That was a good idea.

_You're so fucking brilliant,_ was what he'd intended to say, but instead he said—

"Nick."

And that seemed to mean something to Rush because—his head was thrown back and his eyes were searing and his hands were clever and capable and _pressure_—fuck, pressure was _force_ divided by area when the force was the normal force and the area was the surface area on—on _contact_ and his fingers curled beneath the resistant tension of Rush's jeans and were they jeans or BDUs and could he change them here? But it didn't matter, because with a quick twist of his fingers they were open and—

"Tell me I exist," Rush whispered. "Tell me I mean something. _Anything_—like this."

"Of course you exist," Young said. "Right now you're the only thing that does."

Rush poured into his mind, bright and intact and flawless and kissing him, and grinding his hips up into Young, and his hands and his eyes and it was too much to withstand and he would do anything, _anything,_ to hold Rush here, fixed forever in a space that would not—that _could not_ hurt him, but it was impossible because always, _always, _they moved forward through time and it was the one thing that the Ancients had tried and failed to address. There was _nothing_ out there for them, nothing but pain and the inexorable flow of seconds that ultimately, inevitably would strip everything away—

"Shh," Rush whispered, a thumb coming to graze along Young's cheek. "You're all right. You're all right."

* * *

><p>"There's something you should do before you go," Rush whispered, his head heavy on Young's shoulder.<p>

"What's that?" Young murmured.

"When you're in the neural interface—" he broke off as his throat closed, and Young could feel the other man's back tense briefly. "From here," Rush said quietly, "you can get him back."

"Shit," Young whispered, his voice cracking on the word.

Rush said nothing.

He was utterly still.

Young shut his eyes against the gold of the autumn afternoon.

"It has to happen," Rush said. "Do it now."

"Shh," Young said quietly, his eyes shut, his hand tangled in Rush's hair.

"To get out of here," Rush whispered. "Simply visualize a door."

"Nick."

"Don't prolong this," his voice cracked, his back tensing under Young's hands. We both know that you will always, _always_ choose to destroy me, because the alternative is letting him die."

"Why didn't you tell me that I was going to have to do this?"

"I can't be responsible for figuring out which of the many things that I find obvious you have overlooked."

The sarcastic tone was belied by how uncharacteristically still the other man was against him.

He looked at its mind, bright and clear and organized and structured.

Around them, the landscape began to shift, the light of the afternoon again giving way to the gray-white of a field covered with snow.

And ice.

He tightened his arms around Rush, and he could feel the scientist's heart pounding rapidly beneath his ribs.

"Why do you have a heartbeat?" Young asked, running his hand rhythmically over the space between Rush's shoulder blades.

"Stop trying to distract me."

"Easy," Young said. "I'll tell you when I'm going to do it."

Beneath his back, the ground had grown cold.

"So why the heartbeat?" Young murmured quietly into his hair.

"It's part of my unconscious perception of myself," Rush said, "and hence, it appears as part of my projection. I could stop it, if I wanted to."

"Mmm," Young said, feeling Rush's pulse begin to slow beneath the hand he had spread across the center of the other man's back.

"Think of ice," Rush whispered.

"Yeah," Young said, his eyes tightly shut.

"You ready, genius?" he whispered finally.

"Yes."

His arms tightened convulsively around Rush as he reached into his mind and tore it apart, separating everything that made it what it was, and the pieces faded, returning to Destiny, to Rush's actual body, leaving Young alone on the ice covered ground.

He sat up abruptly, elbows on knees, his face in his hands.

After a few moments, he stood.

It had begun to snow again.

The door that he opened was gray.

* * *

><p>Coming out of the neural interface was less difficult than he remembered—perhaps it was the changes in his neural architecture. Perhaps the software buffer had protected him.<p>

"Hey sir." Scott and Eli were kneeling in front of him.

"Hi," Young managed around the tightness in his throat.

"You get it done?" Scott asked quietly, giving him a searching look.

Eli said nothing, his face pale.

Young looked at them, not entirely sure what Scott had been referring to.

It took him a moment to remember the program and the girl.

"Yeah," he said. "It's done."

He let Scott and Eli pull him to his feet.

"Where are Greer and TJ?" he asked. His voice didn't sound normal.

"Greer took the second watch on Colonel Telford's quarters," Scott said, speaking slowly. "And TJ's in the infirmary."

"Are you okay?" Eli asked quietly. "You look kind of—"

Young glanced at him, then away.

"Just, kind of, um, not your best."

"I'm fine, Eli," he said, but even to him, his voice sounded faint. "Bad day."

"Bad week," Scott said.

"Um, you guys. Duh. Bad _two point five years_, okay?"

"Status report," Young said, a bit belatedly. He brought an unsteady hand up to his forehead.

"So," Eli said, drawing out the word, "We did indeed lose life support for about thirty seconds at one point, and apparently something also happened to Rush during that time, because TJ went running back to the infirmary—"

"_What_," Young said, pulling away from Scott and nearly losing his balance in the process.

"Sorry, sorry, he's okay. He's _fine_," Eli said hastily. "TJ radioed us like two seconds after we got life support back to say that he was fine."

Young glared at Eli.

"He's fine," Eli repeated.

"I want a step by step plan outlining the removal of the tracking device prepared by the science team by tomorrow. Until then, nobody _touches_ that thing. Nobody so much as runs a diagnostic."

"Okay sure."

"Make sure Chloe is involved," Young said.

"Yeah okay. Yes on Chloe, no on touching. Got it."

Young and Scott shot Eli a look.

"Touching the _device_. God, you guys."

Scott rolled his eyes, then turned to Young. "You should probably head to the infirmary, sir. Let TJ check you out?"

"Yeah," Young agreed, letting Scott pull him toward the door.

He looked back over his shoulder toward the center of the room, but it was empty.

They made their way toward the infirmary in silence.

TJ met them just inside the double doors.

"Hi," she said.

"Is he awake?" Young asked shortly. "I need to talk to him."

"No," TJ said, "he's not awake. Come on." She grabbed his free arm and pulled it over her shoulder. "You look like you're not going to be on your feet much longer either."

"TJ."

"Don't 'TJ' me," she said sharply. "You're lucky _you're_ not sedated."

"Out of line, lieutenant," he growled at her.

She didn't reply to him, but instead looked over at Scott. "I've got this," she said quietly. "Can you take his bridge shift?"

"Yeah," Scott murmured back. "No problem." He ducked out from beneath Young's arm and TJ dragged him to the rear room of the infirmary.

"Lie back."

Her voice was icy, but her hands were gentle as she pushed him back against a gurney. Young caught a quick glimpse of Rush, his hair fanned out dark over the white of the sheets before TJ moved between them.

"You should probably take him out of the restraints," Young said, looking guiltily at the other man.

"Already done," TJ said shortly, tearing loose the velcro of the blood pressure cuff she was holding. "You should have told me that you could see the girl."

"Yeah," Young said. "I should have. But—that wasn't, um—" he brought a hand up to his head. "That wasn't really apparent to me at the time."

"Yeah," she echoed shortly. "I guess not."

"Eli said something happened to him, while I was in the chair?"

"Mm hmm," TJ said, flashing a penlight into his eyes. Young did his best not to flinch away. "His vitals tanked for about thirty seconds and Destiny's life support went on the fritz. Maybe half an hour after that his pressure shot up—not sure what that was about, but he's stable for the moment."

"How long until he wakes up?" Young asked. "I _really_ need to talk to him."

TJ held a finger to her lips as she listened to Young's heart and lungs, reaching up beneath his shirt to carefully place the cold metal rim of her stethoscope against his ribs.

"TJ," he said when she was done. "How _long_."

"I don't know," she replied, looking away. "It could be a while." She pursed her lips. "I gave him something different this time. Something that I thought would be better, given the circumstances."

"What did you give him?"

"An antipsychotic," TJ said. "Haldol. It's very safe, and pretty standard for agitation accompanied by psychosis. In retrospect, knowing that he _wasn't_ actively hallucinating, and had a good reason to be agitated, my choice would have been different." She gave him a hard look.

"Yeah," he said, shutting his eyes. "I get it, TJ."

For a moment, she was quiet.

"This could have ended—very badly," she said, her voice cracking.

"Yeah," replied. "I know. I realize that. I also realize that—it _would_ have, if it hadn't been for you."

"Your _minds_ are connected," she said quietly. "One would think you would be better at communicating with each other."

"He's very _difficult, _TJ, in every—"

"I know," she broke in. "I know how he is. I've interacted with him on a daily basis for the past two and a half years and, every so often, he pulls the rug out from under you and you—you react badly."

"I know," he replied.

"Why is that, do you think?" she asked delicately.

He looked away.

"Something to consider," TJ said quietly, when it became apparent that he wasn't going to answer her. "You should get some sleep."

She turned and walked toward the door. Young's eyes flicked over toward Rush and then back at her retreating form.

"TJ," he said, stopping her.

She turned to look at him.

"What made you believe him?"

"I didn't," she said quietly. "I didn't believe him."

"Then why—"

"I was worried about _you_," she said. "And—I did owe him. At least that much."


	40. Chapter 40

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** Thank you all for the reviews and commentary! This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>"Yes well. Quid nunc? Non habeo dexteritatem huic."<p>

Young's eyelids scraped their way up and over his eyes.

He focused with some difficulty on Rush, who was sitting on the gurney next to him—a dark silhouette in the dim lighting. The scientist was hunched over something on the bed, looking at it intently. He looked vaguely unsteady; even sitting he seemed to need to lean on one arm. His head was held at an odd angle.

"Quid si—" Rush began, but broke off to look up at the empty air as if he had been interrupted. The soft blue light of the infirmary glinted off the frames of his glasses.

As carefully as he could, Young brought their thoughts into subtle apposition.

It was immediately apparent that he needn't have worried about being detected—the aftereffects of whatever TJ had given the other man were glaringly apparent.

The pace of Rush's thoughts had slowed by orders of magnitude to a sluggish, muddy swirl.

"I just—don't think it's a good idea," the AI said quietly, manifesting as Dr. Jackson. Its arms were crossed and it was leaning against Rush's gurney.

"Crede mihi," Rush murmured. "Est."

"Nick." The AI sighed, looking at the floor for the span of a few seconds before looking back at Rush. "If you want to retain your ability to speak English, you need to constantly practice."

Young watched them through half-shuttered eyes, his muscles held in painful, unnatural stillness.

Rarely, if ever, did he get to watch them interact with one another. The opportunity to do so was becoming increasingly valuable to him. He quieted his own mind as much as possible.

"Noli mutare subiectum. Non sum commotus est."

Young had no idea _what_ Rush had said, but the manner in which he'd said it was flat and utterly devoid of energy.

"Nick. You're too tired to do anything right now," the AI said quietly.

"Non est verum."

"English please," the AI replied gently, uncrossing and recrossing its arms.

"Quam ob causam? Quid tibi cura?" Rush snapped, or—_tried_ to snap. The pace of his words was unusually slow. He curled into himself, bringing one knee up and resting his forehead against it.

"What's wrong?" The AI asked, shifting over so it was sitting on the gurney next to Rush.

"Nihil nefas, sweetheart. Ego paenitet. Nescio causa ego dixi quid." Rush whispered.

"You are very unhappy," the AI said, leaning towards him. "Please," it said. "Please explain to me so that I can understand."

"Non possum."

"Why? Because I am incapable of understanding, or because you are incapable of explaining?"

"Non est vobis. Est mihi." Rush said, his forehead still resting on his knee.

"Speak _English_," the AI said, sounding pained. "Please. Despite what you may say, you don't want to lose it. I _know_ you don't. Colonel Young does not speak Ancient. You won't be able to talk to him."

"Non curo."

"Yes you do," the AI whispered. "Stop it. _Speak_. _English_." It glared at him.

Rush lifted his head and smiled faintly at it. "Sis ut terreret me, vos deficiet. Non puto vos est formidulosus."

"Nick," it said, its projection flickering briefly. "Please. I'm trying to _help_ you."

"Scio, sweetheart. Scio. Sorry."

As Young watched, the AI reached out, Jackson's projected hand stopping just where Rush's shoulder began. As if it could touch him.

"How do you feel?" Jackson asked, his voice low and concerned.

"Nescio—" Rush broke off, opening one hand in the AI's direction before it could say anything. "I don't know. Odd. Not normal." His voice inflected bizarrely with the Ancient accent. "Scitis—what caused—" Rush made a vague, poorly coordinated circular gesture in the air next to his temple.

Young could feel the slowed, labored, spiral of his thoughts as he tried to understand what had happened to him.

"Tamara gave you an antipsychotic drug."

"Ah," Rush said, tilting his head to rest his temple on his knee. "Explained."

"That explains it," the AI corrected gently.

"Why no English?"

"I don't know," it said. "I have a gap in my logs that spans nearly four hours. As Tamara told you, during that time, Colonel Young sat in the chair and eliminated the program. As for why you're affected this way—I'm not sure. Colonel Young may know."

Young stayed absolutely motionless, but neither of them looked his way.

"Quidquid." Rush sighed and straightened slightly, looking down at whatever he had been working on when Young first awoke. "Forget. I go no shoes."

"No no no no _no_," the AI said, doing a nearly flawless impersonation of Daniel Jackson. "You're not walking around without boots. Your foot is finally, _finally, _starting to heal and—"

"I do what I want," Rush said, his voice barely audible.

The AI looked at him and its projection flickered slightly.

"Maybe you could just pull them on and kind of," the AI made a circular motion with one finger. "Wrap the laces around your ankle and tie them in a knot."

Rush looked up at it. "Unsure regarding this _tying_," Rush said, falling back as he started to pull on the first unlaced boot.

"Where is it that you're so determined to _go_, anyway?" the AI asked.

"Not far," Rush said. "Autonomy."

"I'm not sure how to interpret that," the AI said, giving Rush a faint smile. "Except to extrapolate that you are referring to the fact that after being drugged and restrained you feel compelled to exert your individual will as a matter of principle, regardless of how—ill advised that course of action might be."

Rush rolled his eyes with a soft, incredulous sounding exhalation.

"What?" the AI demanded.

"Piece of metal."

"You are a piece of metal," the AI corrected, "and don't think I haven't noticed that you attempt to insult my cognitive capacity at exactly the times that you find me to be most insightful."

"If so useful," Rush said, "you help with boots then."

The AI smiled faintly. "I would if I could touch you," it replied, watching Rush finally coordinate his movements well enough to pull the first boot all the way onto his foot. The scientist sat back up unsteadily and reached down to pick up the other off the floor. Again he leaned back, pulling the second boot on with both hands in an effort that seemed to be prolonged by a lack of synchronization in his movements.

It wasn't until Rush was again sitting, attempting to wind his laces around his ankle, that Young finally spoke.

"Need some help with that?" he asked quietly.

The AI vanished abruptly.

Rush froze and then glanced obliquely at him. "No," he said shortly, managing to make the word sound something like his normal cadence.

"Okay," Young said quietly, pushing himself up on one elbow. "_Want_ some help with that?"

"No," Rush said again, his eyes fixed on his boot.

"Okay," Young replied, "fair enough."

Rush didn't look up, simply went back to attempting to put a square knot in the laces that he had wound around his ankle. "Finally awake?" Rush asked slowly, his hands stilling at the effort of putting his thoughts together.

"Yeah," Young said mildly. "How you doing?"

"Fine," Rush said quietly. "You?"

"Fine," Young replied.

"I—ah," Rush said, his hands stilling again.

"It's okay," Young said quietly. "I've been awake for a few minutes. I know you're having a hard time with the English."

"Underhanded," Rush said, leaning forward, bracing his wrists on both sides of his ankle, giving the knot another serious go.

"Me?" Young said after a short pause. "Yeah, a little bit, I guess."

"You guess." Rush reached out to close his hand around one of the velcro restraints that was still attached to his gurney. He gave it a pointed yank before finding the bootlaces he had abandoned.

"Um," Young said. "Yeah."

"Not forgiven," Rush murmured, not looking at him, bringing his hand back to brace it against his ankle.

"Mmm hmm," Young said. "I don't really blame you for that one, genius."

Young spent thirty seconds watching him ineffectively twist and cross the laces.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Young asked quietly. "About the girl. About the doctor. About the program left behind by the Nakai."

For another twenty seconds, Rush said nothing.

"You stay away," Rush said finally, as he succeeded in tying off the square knot he'd been working on for two and a half minutes. He switched feet. "Better for you, better for me, better for everyone."

"You can't protect me," Young said. "Not any more than I can protect you."

Rush hesitated for a moment, his hands hovering as he wound the laces around his ankle. "You try anyway," he said. "And from me, you expect less. Always. Why?"

Young looked at him, taken aback.

Rush braced his hands again and began the cross and twist of the laces. "For the best. Me? Heartless bastard. You? Idiot." He hadn't looked at Young for over four minutes.

"I think _you're_ the idiot," Young whispered.

"Insane? Maybe. Idiot? No. Not usually." Rush finished tying the square knot in the laces he had wrapped around his ankle. Rather sloppily, he got to his feet, pulling his jacket slightly askew in an attempt to straighten it, still looking away.

"Why don't you just stay here, genius? Hmm?"

"No."

"Come on."

"_No_."

In Young's peripheral vision he could see Jackson shake his head.

"Nick," Young said. "Come on. Don't—"

"Don't?" Rush repeated, rounding on him abruptly. "Don't? Don't _what_? You try—" he broke off, bringing both hands to his face with a distressed sounding exclamation. "Fuck. Fuck _you_. Why? _Why?_ You never—" Young could feel the swirl of Rush's frustrated thoughts begin to spiral and flare but slowly, unbelievably slowly, and without control. "You _always_—"

"Hey," Young said, sitting abruptly, alarmed at the feel and trajectory of the other man's mental landscape, realizing belatedly that Rush was overtired and overwhelmed and _miserable_ and he probably should have adopted the AI's strategy of—

"You don't do this," Rush said, indicating the gurney and its attached restraints with both hands, "and then everything is _fine_. _I_," he paused, to gesture at his own chest with an arced hand, "do not do what _you_ say. Understand? Tamara—I can go. _When I want_. Fuck you."

"Yeah,' Young said holding up his hands, realizing from the feel of Rush's mind that the man was about fifteen seconds from a complete and utter meltdown. "Yeah, of course you can go. You can do whatever the hell you want."

"Not crazy," Rush said, his voice breathy, reaching out to steady himself, one hand coming to rest on the frame of the gurney.

"I know," Young said quietly. "I—I know you're not. Okay? I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_, genius."

Rush didn't look at him, simply stood, one hand on the gurney, breathing rapidly. "Not forgiven," he said finally. "Not."

"Okay," Young said, his hands still open, palms forward. "Okay, fair enough."

He watched Rush for a few more seconds before slowly bringing his feet to the floor, coming to sit on the edge of his own gurney.

Rush glanced at him obliquely.

"Where do you want to go?" Young asked him carefully, suspecting he actually had no destination at all in mind.

Rush didn't answer.

"I was thinking of getting some tea," Young said. "You want to come along before you—do whatever it is that you need to do?"

"Fine."

Young nodded back at him.

Young made short work of pulling on his boots and locating his radio and jacket. He swiped Rush's radio from a nearby table and stepped in. He tucked two fingers inside the waistband of the scientist's pants and pulled the material out just enough to clip the radio to the other man's hip, knowing that Rush was a damn sight too uncoordinated to be able to manage it himself at the moment.

"Do _not _touch," Rush snarled at him, backing away into the gurney and nearly losing his balance.

"Whoa," Young said, both hands held in front of him, palms open. "Okay."

Rush glared at him.

"Okay I get it. I do. You are extremely pissed. You're also still pretty snowed from whatever TJ gave you, I think, so just—take it easy."

"So insightful," Rush said disdainfully, pushing away from the gurney and starting toward the door. "And why _no_ _English_? No chair, no poison—, no— quidquid. Odi istum. Vos dictum quod videor amo a perfuga. Perfuga Intergalactic. Vos putas tam lepidi. Ego reputo vos adepto quod a me." His Ancient was liquid, clearly fluent, and disdainful.

"Um," Young said. "Did I just hear the word 'intergalactic' in there?"

"Why. No. English."

"Well, it seems like you still have _some_ English."

"Yes." Rush paused to lean against the doorframe of the infirmary. Young stepped in, but almost immediately Rush moved away, backing unsteadily into the corridor until he found a wall to lean against. "Debate semantics. Add qualifiers. Very effective right now. Please continue, bastard."

"You realize this is partially _your fault_, right?" Young growled. "You're the one who fucking went for _days_ without sleep and practically drove yourself insane—"

"Yes," Rush breathed and it was so utterly without energy that it destroyed Young's building anger. "Please. Just. Why not English? Do you know?"

"Yeah," Young said. "Yeah, I know."

"Please tell, then."

"I will, genius. Over tea, okay? Not right here." Very slowly, he stepped closer to Rush. "I'm kind of surprised you haven't asked me anything about the Nakai program."

"Old news. Tamara says you kill it." Rush started walking in the direction of the mess, one hand trailing along the metal of the wall. As he passed, the lighting at the base of the walls flared a brilliant blue. "Sit in chair, erase."

"Um, kind of."

"What 'kind of'?"

"It was—a little more complicated than that."

"Difficult."

"Yes," Young whispered. "Very difficult."

"For you," Rush said.

"For you too," Young murmured. "Why else do you think the AI is being so nice to you?"

Rush waved a hand dismissively. "_Always_ nice to me. Very concerned. Tries to make—" he broke off with an uncertain sound. "Tries to be like you."

"_What_ did you just say?"

"Tries to be like you," Rush repeated with a shrug. "Nick go to bed. Nick don't walk around. Nick listen to Colonel Young. Nick _don't_ listen to Colonel Young. Nick eat dinner. Nick don't talk out loud. Very, _very_ annoying. Weeks and weeks like this." Rush shot him a dark look.

"Wait, _wait_," Young said, his voice cracking on the word. "It tells you to _listen_ to me?"

Rush shrugged. "Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Depends."

"Um," Young said, looking over at Rush. "I find that—difficult to believe."

Rush sighed. "Yes well. Maybe all lies. Cold-hearted bastard. Ulterior motive always."

"You or me or the AI?"

"Yes."

"Are you being difficult or do you think that was an answer?"

Rush stopped again in the middle of the deserted corridor, his hand pressing against the wall, leaning over as if he were lightheaded. The lights at the base of the walls held a sustained, brilliant blue.

Young moved in on Rush's thoughts and could feel the already slowed and exhausted mess slowing further.

"New plan," Rush said, leaning back against the wall and starting to slide to the floor. "Less tea, more sit."

"Nope," Young said, grabbing his upper arms and pulling him back up before he could make it halfway down the wall. "God, did TJ really say you could leave? Come on. You need to go to sleep."

"Sleeping already. All day."

"No, you were half tranquilized and half really fucking busy, genius, you just don't remember." Young pulled one of Rush's arms over his shoulders. "Plus, you have something like five days of sleep debt."

"Sleep debt? Make sense. God."

"_You_ make sense."

"So witty," Rush said dryly. "No touching."

"Um," Young said, looking at Rush uncertainly. "Okay," he maintained his grip on Rush's arm, and if anything the scientist leaned into him. In one fluid motion he slid a hand across Rush's lower back and hooked two fingers through the belt loop of Rush's BDUs. "No touching," Young said as he took more of Rush's weight.

"Patronizing," Rush snapped.

"Nope," Young said mildly. "I know you're still smarter than me, even if you sound like you never made it to middle school. I'm just being nice to you."

"Fuck you, _nice_. Fuck you, _middle school_."

"Yeah. Whatever. You're going to feel better after you actually sleep. You always do, even though you pretend otherwise. You'll probably be mostly fluent in the morning."

"Next time?" Rush said, shooting him a pointed look, "I give _you_ secret drug. Two times. Two times _this week_."

"What?"

"Tea. Restrain and drug."

"I guess that's true."

"You guess."

"Look, I'm sorry all right? It seemed like a good idea at the time. Why don't you read me the riot act when you can actually speak English? It's going to work out much better for you."

Rush narrowed his eyes.

"Or, you know, do the quiet menace thing. That's fine too."

"Fuck you."

"You know, you're—"

"Yes yes. Lot of _work_. Scio. Find new phrase."

Young snorted. "Don't take this the wrong way, because you can be terrifying when you want to be, but most of that comes from the whole more-lexically-adroit-than-thou thing you have going. Here's the thing though, genius—when you can't seem to use English properly it kind of detracts from the whole picture, you know? So my advice is just save it and give me hell tomorrow."

"Lexically adroit?" Rush repeated disdainfully.

"What?" Young asked, giving him a half smile. "You're not the only one who can turn a phrase."

"Not forgiven," Rush said, leaning his head on Young's shoulder. "Not."

"Yeah yeah," Young said. "You want to watch a movie? Relearn some more English? How far are you on Eli's list?"

"Four."

"Four out of how many?"

"Seventy-eight."

"You're kidding me."

"No. Very serious."

They paused outside his quarters and Young shifted his grip on Rush in order to hit the door controls, but before he could do so the door opened of its own accord.

"Thanks," he said.

Rush gave him a vague sort of wave with his free hand and then reached up to run his fingers through his hair.

Young tried to steer him in the direction of the bed, but they ended up having a wordless struggle for control of their trajectory as Rush made for the couch instead. After a few seconds of resistance, Young let him have his way and helped him sit.

Rush ended up with one foot up on the coffee table and his head thrown back in a pose that that was really more sprawling than sitting.

"Not sleeping here," Rush whispered.

"Oh yeah?" Young asked mildly, sitting on the coffee table across from him.

"Visiting only."

"Visiting," Young repeated. "I see. Well. Would you like me to get you some tea?"

"No," Rush said, his eyelids cracking open. "I make tea always now. Never you."

Young snorted. "Fair enough."

They were quiet for a moment. Young watched the other man's eyes slide shut. He hesitated and then reached out, his fingers closing around the material of Rush's BDUs just below his knee. He gave it a gentle tug, and Rush's eyes opened.

"Quid?" Rush murmured.

"On a scale of one to ten," Young said, "How good is your comprehension of English right now?"

"Comprehension? Ten. Speaking? Seven."

"_This_ is a _seven_?"

"Log scale. Plus," Rush paused, his brow furrowing slightly. "I can speak in complete sentences if such is required. More effort though. Why?"

"Because I want to tell you something and I want to make sure that you understand."

"Okay. But actually? Very tired."

"Yeah, I know you are, genius. This is just one of the thirty thousand odd things I'd like to tell you right now so just stay awake for a minute."

Rush gave him a fractional nod.

"You were completely out of line," Young said.

Rush narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

"I'm sure you had a lot of different reasons for choosing to handle this the way you did, some of which I'm aware of and some that I'm probably _not_, because you won't goddamned _talk_ to me and you _never have_. Not really. I have no idea why you are the way you are, but—at this point you're what I've got, and as our chief scientist you can't just—not tell me what you're doing because you think I won't _like _it. It's not a good strategy and it's not a sustainable strategy and it really—pisses me off." Young ran a hand through his hair.

"Yes well. Message received," Rush said dryly, raising one hand and pulling the cuff of his jacket down to expose a three-inch wide bruise that circled his wrist. He raised his eyebrows at Young, who did his best to keep his expression neutral.

"Yeah. I _know_. And that's what I wanted to—" he grimaced. "Shit. This is not coming out right."

Rush looked at him.

"Nick," he whispered. "I am—really sorry. For that—" he gestured at Rush's wrist, "And for—for a lot of different things. For everything."

"Don't be," Rush said, looking away. "You shouldn't be."

"Yes I should. You don't know—" Young broke off, unable to continue.

"Neither do you," Rush murmured. "This?" He made a vague motion back and forth between his temple and Young's general direction. "Much worse for you. For _you_."

"You keep saying that, but I don't think so, genius," he whispered.

"You will see," Rush said, shutting his eyes, bringing one hand to his temple.

"I love it when you say things like that," Young murmured, wrapping his fingers around the back of Rush's calf.

Rush looked away, turning his head into the hand at his temple.

Even though the scientist's thoughts were still slowed and dulled by the drug that remained in his system, Young sensed a wave of acute distress building in his disorganized mental swirl. Though it was something that Rush would have normally been able to diffuse on his own, the man's control was nonexistent.

"Hey," Young managed. His hand closed around the top of Rush's left boot, which was elevated next to him on the coffee table. "Hey."

Rush was breathing rapidly, his thoughts in tormented disarray.

Young pulled their minds into careful apposition, projecting calm at the other man. /You're all right. You're fine./

They sat like that for a long moment.

"Bad day," Rush said finally, when he could speak.

"I know, genius. I know. But it's over. It's just past midnight."

Rush shrugged.

"This one is going to be better. So, um, what's movie number five?"

"Alien."

"You're kidding me. We are _not_ watching Alien right now."

"Why?"

"Just trust me on this one," Young said. He pushed himself to his feet, feeling Rush's exhaustion leeching into him through their wide-open link. "Want to lie down?" he asked.

"No. Visit only."

Young sighed. "Can you please just—stay?"

Rush cracked his eyes open. "Yes," he said quietly. "Okay."

"That was easy," Young said, looking at him suspiciously.

"Yes well. Reward—" Young could feel him searching for the correct word before finally settling on "transparency."

Young offered his hand, raising his eyebrows at Rush. "Reward _transparency_? Are you trying to _train_ me?"

"No. Yes. Somewhat."

Rush reached up, and Young clasped his hand, pulling him to his feet.

"You're the one who needs to be trained," Young said. "You're a menace."

* * *

><p>Young tried to open his eyes.<p>

_The landscape is gray and the sky is gray and there is something terribly terribly wrong in this moment that lengthens beyond any perception of time, too short to scream but too long to ever end and_ _he is being _torn apart_ by something he doesn't understand and cannot fight and cannot—_

Young fought his way free and tried

_He does not understand this, he does not understand this, he does not understand this, he does not understand this, he does not—_

to open his eyes and tried to detangle his mind from

_It continues and continues and continues this terrifying tearing and this is not right his distress is splitting his processes into loops with smaller and smaller limits and he does not understand why it is not already over, why it hurts so much to destroy code, code should not feel, code should not_

Rush's consciousness.

The room was dark. He could hear a sound. He was cold. His sense of balance was rocked by a drop out of FTL.

_The landscape is gray and the sky is gray and there is something terribly terribly wrong in this moment that lengthens beyond _

He realized that the sound he was hearing was the sound of Rush screaming, raw and agonized—eyes shut, hands clenched, back arched, tangled in the sheets.

_He does not understand this he does not understand this, he does not understand this he does not he does not_

"Shit. _Shit_."

Young kneeled on the bed, trapped by the sheets himself, his hand on Rush's shoulder, as he attempted to snap him free.

_Smaller and smaller limits and he does not understand why it is not already over, why it hurts so much to destroy code, code should not feel, code should not feel, code should not feel but it _does_ and he tries to think of ice of ice of ice—over the sea and over the ground and over the road and frozen into waterfalls but the landscape is gray and the sky is gray and there is something terribly terribly wrong_

Rush's mind was combining with the AI. Out of the chair, in real time, in his sleep.

_Beyond any perception of time too short to scream but too long to ever end_

Young tore them apart and yanked Rush's mind back to consciousness.

Rush stopped screaming and opened his eyes, gasping for air, his expression horrified.

"Oh my _god_," Young whispered, looking at him. "Rush? _Nick_? Talk to me."

"I—" Rush blinked slowly, weakly pushing himself onto one elbow, clearly disoriented.

Young dragged him halfway to a sitting position and pulled him into a hug. He could feel his own muscles trembling with reaction. His throat closed.

"Just—tell me you don't remember that," Young breathed into Rush's hair, his voice cracking. "Tell me you don't. _God_. Tell me you _don't_."

After a few seconds, Rush's hands came up to wrap around Young's shoulders. "Everett," he whispered, his voice raw. "Eam erat—nothing. A nightmare. You're all right."

Young made a sound that began as a laugh and then was strangled by his unforgiving, locked vocal chords.

"You're all right," Rush repeated.

The ship jumped back into FTL.

"A nightmare," Young repeated with a horrible smile that no one could see, his forehead resting on Rush's shoulder.

He felt unmoored, nearly hysterical.

"You sure about that one, genius?"

Young's radio crackled.

"Hi, this is Eli. Colonel Young or, um, Dr. Rush, could one of you please respond?"

A few seconds went by and then Rush shifted his position, keeping one arm around Young as he reached for his radio.

"Hic Rush, er—" he shook his head. "Rush here," he heard the other man say. The scientist's voice was still raw and wet and he was shaking, or—

Maybe it was Young himself who was shaking.

"Oh. Um, really? Hi. How—are you?"

"Eli."

"What? I haven't talked to you for a while. Anyway, I just thought you probably noticed the ten second drop out of FTL that we just had, and I wondered if you had any thoughts about that."

"Don't worry about it."

"Somehow? I knew you were going to say that. And yet, here I am, still worrying about it. Is Colonel Young around by chance?"

"No," Rush replied. "Unavailable."

"Um—" Eli trailed off.

"Vultus. Eli. English mea non est praeclarus pro incertem qua de causa an. Id fuit unus difficile septimana, et scis quod Destiny est sensitiva ut meo mens, igitur quid putas accidit? Non est rocket science."

"Um, yeah, ego suppono habuistis somnium or something—et quod, you know, dropped us out of FTL?"

"Yes," Rush said, running a hand up and down Young's back.

"Tu scis quod non est bonum, right?" Eli said, sounding dubious.

"Yes well. Et quid tibi suggerere?" Rush asked, the cadence of his words beginning to become choppy.

"Well, I don't know, er, non scio, but—"

Young finally pulled himself together enough to grab the radio from Rush. "Eli," he growled. "Enough."

There was a short silence from the radio.

"Okay. Eli out."

"Bad idea," Rush murmured, leaning into him in the darkness. "Not very—" he trailed off with a shrug that Young felt rather than saw. "You are the nice one."

"I guess," Young said, the words fighting their way past the way his throat kept closing.

Rush said nothing for a moment, just ran his hand up and down Young's spine. "You are very upset," he said finally, his voice quiet, exhausted. "Very upset. Why?"

"I know exactly why," Young said. "Tell me about this dream."

Rush shrugged, shivering. "You saw it. You pulled me out."

"I want you," Young said, pulling back abruptly, his hands closing around Rush's biceps, forcing the other man far enough away to look at his face, "To _tell _me. To _describe _it."

Rush gave him an inscrutable look and Young shook him, very gently, once.

"Describe it," he said again. "Please."

"Not much to describe," Rush said, frowning at him. "It is also—difficult in English."

"Try _anyway_."

Something in his face or the tone of his voice or his hold on Rush must have alarmed the other man because he raised one hand, palm up, in Young's direction. "Okay," he said quietly. "Okay. I was somewhere—poorly defined. Gray. Gray sky, gray frozen ground, gray asphalt, gray ice." He looked away from Young, closing his outstretched hand into a fist, pressing it to his mouth. "It was evening."

Young raised his eyebrows.

"The context, or setting—probably unimportant," Rush whispered. "Some generic place."

"Maybe," Young said. "Keep going."

"All I remember was the sensation of being—" Rush's hand opened briefly and closed again. "Torn apart. Without end. As if in an infinite computational loop."

"Yeah," Young said, barely able to speak. "Keep going."

"Unsure why, or who, if anyone, was doing the tearing."

Rush looked at him, full on, their eyes locking.

Young wanted, _needed_ to look away.

He could not breathe.

"I was not preventing it," Rush murmured. "Nor trying to do so. It seemed requisite, but in what way—" he shrugged, opening a hand.

"Yeah," Young whispered. "Keep going." He found his voice again. "What did it feel like?"

"Painful," Rush replied. "But abstraction of pain, abstraction of rending. Not a form of pain or tearing that was—non scio verbum pro—" he opened and closed his hand. "Not a form that was literal, like a burning pain or aching pain or—you understand? But the concept of pain made—as if encoded. Or better, an executable file that would—that _could_ cause a program or a system of circuits to respond with distress, but not just—but to impart the information or _understanding_ of distress. I think I am not explaining this well."

"You're doing fine. Keep going."

"A sense of loss," Rush whispered. "But again abstract, as if applied to code of a running system. And an awareness of loss that was—acute. I don't think—scio quod—" He broke off again, and Young could feel him try to gain control of his uncontrollable thoughts. "I think this makes little sense. For a dream it's very—existential. To be unmade into nothingness. I've had worse. Why does it upset you?"

"Why does it _upset_ me?"

He had to get up. He had to get _out_. He had to get _away_—he tore free from the bed, from the belated tightening of Rush's hand over his shoulder, dragging the tangled bedcovers with him as he made his way unsteadily across the room. He hit the door controls for the bathroom, ignoring whatever admonishment Rush was throwing after him—it wasn't in English anyway. He sealed the door behind him, gripping the edges of the sink, trying not to be sick and in the back of his mind he could feel Rush shaking, half-dressed, freezing where he sat on the edge of the bed, _also_ trying not to be sick, utterly confused, his mind slowed by the drug still in his system and Young _could not_ _stand_ _it_; he wanted to block him out, but he couldn't, he didn't _dare_ so instead he tried to pull away, tried to think of nothing, of _not_ nothing, of not ice, of anything but _ice, _instead of the desert where sand whitened to blinding in the sun that seared everything away.

He took a deep breath.

He let it go.

He took a deep breath.

He let it go.

He took a deep breath.

He let it go.

/?/ Rush was projecting at him, a wavering stream of reassurance laced with confusion laced with a terrible headache.

What did it mean that Rush _remembered_ being torn apart?

There was a knock on the bathroom door.

"Just, give me a minute," Young managed.

The door swished open.

"I fucking _locked_ that," he said, his hands braced against the sink.

"Locked doors cannot keep me out," Rush said, his voice dark and thick.

"Nothing keeps you," Young whispered.

"You are feeling very abstract tonight," Rush murmured.

"And you are just—heartbreakingly direct," Young said.

"Heartbreaking?" Rush repeated in a whisper.

"Yeah. It means—"

"I know what it means," Rush said. "I can fix this. I can. Not yet, but—before the end."

"Before the end," Young repeated. "Genius," he said, his voice cracking, "you don't even know what it is that you have to fix, let alone how to do it." He brought one hand up, covering his face, as he turned away from Rush.

"You are afraid of what, exactly?"

"I don't want this to happen to you."

"Everyone dies, Everett."

"Fuck you. Not like this. _Not like_ _this_. You're being remade—by this virus, by this _ship_, and I feel like you would fight it if you could, but you don't _understand_ what is happening to you, and I can't fucking _take _this anymore, I _can't_."

"You are very cryptic," Rush said carefully. "My dream—relates to this?"

Young shut his eyes.

"When you sit in the chair, you combine with the AI, and you—you're changed by that. You become _code_."

Rush said nothing.

"You become code and your mind is different. It's organized based on a memory of what you _were_—before so many awful things happened to you. It's organized based on how I've tried to fix things. It's not the unbelievable mess that you've got now, it's ordered and efficient and less bitter and less angry and I _like_ it, okay? I really fucking like it, but when it exists, you _don't_ because all that you are is a part of it. But you _seem_ to want it, and the AI _certainly_ wants, it and that scares the _shit_ out of me."

"And so," Rush said quietly into the darkness, "you dismantle my code."

"Yes," Young said, his voice a cracked whisper. "I have to."

"So in the dream, that was you. That was _you_."

"Yes," Young whispered again. "It was a memory. Your memory. Or his."

"I see," Rush said, stepping in, one hand coming up to rest on Young's shoulder.

"And what's more, you were half combined when I woke up. In your _sleep_. It's getting stronger. This other version of you. It has its own agenda, it—"

"Shh," Rush said, taking a half step forward. "Agenda," he repeated, in an amused, exasperated tone. He pressed his forehead to Young's temple, and Young could feel the continuous tremors that wracked him. "Always _agendas_ with you. So suspicious."

Young felt a short, hysterical laugh escape him.

"Dismantling is required," Rush said quietly, "so you dismantle. Nothing wrong with this."

"I don't think you really understand the big picture here, genius," Young said, his eyes shut tight.

"I am very insightful," Rush said. "Yes? Find bridge, find tracking device, avoid obelisk planets, save the day always. More than Eli. More than entire science team combined."

"Don't get cocky."

"Very arrogant. Yes, true. You like this."

"You talk a good game," Young said. "But you're a mess right now, genius."

"I do not admit this," Rush said, as Young ran both hands up and down his arms.

"Fever?" Young asked.

Rush nodded.

"Okay," Young murmured, making a concerted attempt to pull himself together. "Didn't someone give you a long-sleeved shirt recently?"

"Tamara," Rush said. "Campaign contribution."

"Where is it?"

Rush shrugged.

"You don't know? How often do you get a new shirt?"

"No plans for wearing."

"Why not?"

"Because," Rush said, imperiously.

"God, you're a lotta work." Young swung him around and edged past him, out of the bathroom door. He hit the lights with his elbow and they flared and then dimmed down as Rush emerged from the bathroom, squinting.

"Gave it to Brody," Rush said, leaning in the doorway, shivering.

"You did not," Young said, finally coming up with the shirt, which had found its way underneath the bed, it was gray and utterly unobjectionable. He tossed it to Rush. "Put that _on_."

"No. You can have it. I give it to you. I'm fine."

"Rush," Young growled.

Rush sighed and stripped off his threadbare, sweat-soaked T-shirt and vanished into the bathroom.

While he was in there, Young untwisted the sheets and bedcovers, managing to rearrange them into their normal configuration. After a few minutes Rush reemerged from the bathroom, his hair slightly more under control, and glared at Young.

"Mathlete?" Young said, reading the text that appeared across the front of the shirt.

"Conclude," Rush snapped.

"Is that Ancient for 'shut up'?" Young asked with a half smile.

"Do _not_ tell Eli."

"Your secret is safe with me, genius," Young said, climbing into bed. "Come on."

Rush sighed and crossed the room unsteadily, falling into bed.

Young pulled him over so that Rush was mostly lying on top of him. He wrapped his arm around the other man's back as Rush curled a hand around his shoulder.

"Go to sleep," Young murmured into his hair.

Rush sighed. "I will fix this for you."

"Yeah," Young said. "Sure you will."

"You're all right," Rush whispered.

"Yeah," Young said.

"Go to sleep," Rush said.

"Yeah." He smoothed his hand over Rush's hair, settling the other man's head onto his shoulder.

"I will," Rush repeated, his accent still strange as his voice shaded into sleep.

Young stared into the dim, starless shadows of FTL that played over the walls of his quarters, and tried not to think of anything.


	41. Chapter 41

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>Young spent the following morning catching up on reports and trying <em>not<em> to dwell on the many ways in which his life was currently a complete disaster.

The briefing regarding the Nakai tracking device was the main event of the day, but the science team had been in favor of holding it during the midafternoon in order to finish hammering out the fine details before presenting their plan to himself and Rush. As a result, Young had spent most of the morning trying not to think about what he was going to do with David Telford, and doing his best to prevent anything from waking Rush up.

He had made a strategic retreat from his own quarters around eleven hundred hours, intentionally giving Rush some space to sort himself out.

The scientist had woken up around thirteen hundred hours, but Young hadn't yet seen him. The feel of his thoughts had significantly normalized though, and from what Young could tell via his intermittent check-ins through their link, it seemed that that after eating lunch and getting some Tylenol from TJ, the other man was feeling significantly better.

Just before fifteen hundred hours, Young made his way to the control interface room.

Though he was more than ten minutes early for the briefing regarding removal of the tracking device, he could tell before he rounded the doorframe that he wouldn't be the first one there.

Rush sat in his usual spot, his left foot hooked over an adjacent chair, a pen held between his teeth like a cigarette. He was looking down at rapidly changing displays, his arms crossed over his chest.

"What," Young said, startling him, "you don't even have to _type_ now?"

"Jealous?" Rush asked, not bothering to remove the pen from between his teeth as he turned to look at Young. Both his tone and the tenor of his thoughts suggested that his mood was vastly improved from the previous evening.

"No," Young said. "Not really. I prefer the typing, actually."

"Well. You would, wouldn't you?" Rush replied, in his most condescending tone. He shook his hair back out of his eyes. "Also, and clearly this was an erroneous assumption on my part, I generally expect people to wake themselves up with _audible_ alarms. Not cell phone alarms. Set to vibrate. In their _pocket_."

"You're just being a smartass to cheer me up, aren't you?" Young asked him, leaning against the console.

"I would never do that."

"Right. What was I thinking?" Young reached out, placing the back of his hand against Rush's forehead. "You seem like you're feeling better. No fever?"

"Don't _do_ that," Rush snapped, jerking his head away. "You're very irritating, you know."

Young rolled his eyes. "Yes. _I'm_ irritating. Me."

"I fail to see what you're implying, but no. I do not, at present time, have a fever, courtesy of what will now be a continuous regimen of paracetamol."

"And anti-virals," Young said.

"Yes yes. Obviously. Those as well." Rush looked back at the monitors, the overhead lights glinting off his glasses.

Young narrowed his eyes.

"Eli wants a title," Rush said abruptly, pulling his pen out of his mouth and looking up at Young with the full intensity of his gaze. "I blame you for this."

"A _title_? What kind of title? And how is that something that's even—blame_-_worthy?

"He wrote out a list of grievances, actually." Rush reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a piece of paper, and passed it over to Young.

Young unfolded it to read:

_1. Number of briefings run by Eli in the past two weeks: 13  
><em>_2. Fraction of briefings run by Eli in the past two weeks: 0.69  
><em>_3. Fraction of briefings run by Eli vs. time (in weeks)_:

"Um, he _graphed_ the fraction of briefings he's been running?" Young asked, looking down at Rush.

"Yes," Rush said, giving Young a half smile. "Yes he did."

_4. Number of hours worked per week by Eli (average of past 6 weeks): 96.7  
><em>_5. Number of CRITICAL PIECES OF INFORMATION WITHHELD FROM ELI IN PAST SIX WEEKS BROKEN DOWN BY PERSON DOING THE WITHHOLDING:  
><em>_a. Colonel Young: 5  
><em>_b. DNR: Unknown, PROBABLY AT LEAST ONE MILLION ITEMS  
><em>_c. Chloe: 1  
><em>_d. Everyone else: 0  
><em>_6. Number of times people have said thank you to Eli:  
><em>_a. Colonel Young: 2  
><em>_b. DNR: 0_

"There is no way he handed you this piece of paper," Young said.

"I believe the intended recipient, if anyone, was Chloe," Rush said archly. "He is becoming utterly too complacent if he thinks I am too far-gone to notice that he's not paying attention when he is _supposed_ to be learning quantum mechanics. Nevertheless, he makes a good point."

"Wait a minute," Young said, crossing his arms, "you stole his little private tally-sheet that he's been making to vent his frustrations against _you_, primarily, and then it convinces you to _promote_ him?"

"Acting chief scientist," Rush said. "He's been doing the job anyway."

"So this is less _him_ wanting a title than _you_ wanting to give him one. Yours, actually."

"Semantics."

"No," Young said, crossing his arms. "I know what you're doing and just—no. If you're not running the briefings you won't even _come_."

"That's ridiculous."

"Your track record says otherwise, genius. No dice."

"You realize I can go over your head on this one, don't you? _Wray_ is actually the highest civilian authority on this ship and—"

"Wray is not going to back you," Young said.

"It's not even clear to me that I need _anyone's _permission to do this, other than my own." Rush smirked at him, leaning back in his chair, managing to balance it on two legs.

"You are a piece of work—you know that? You may not be directly in the chain of command, but like every other god damned scientist, you exist within a _military_ hierarchy and—"

Rush's eyes flicked from Young to the doorway.

"Stop baiting the colonel," Eli said, from behind Young. "At least—not before briefings."

"Not cool, Doc," Chloe said, from beside Eli. "Definitely not cool."

"Stop that," Rush snapped in her direction.

"What?" Chloe said, "Calling you 'Doc'?"

"Obviously."

"Too late," Chloe said. "Everyone's doing it behind your back now. You should have nipped that one in the bud when you had the chance."

Rush sighed.

"The answer is _no_," Young said, refocusing their conversation as he hooked a boot over a rung in Rush's chair. He stepped down, forcing all four legs of the chair to the floor. "And stop that. You're going to break your neck."

"Yes yes," Rush said, sitting forward, giving Young an irritated look as Volker, Brody, and Park filed in.

Volker eyed Rush dubiously, and Young wondered if they had spoken since Rush had locked the other man in this same room two nights previous.

"Am I running this?" Eli asked Rush, crossing his arms over his chest, his tone somewhat aggrieved. "Or are you?"

Rush ignored Eli's question and pulled his left foot off the chair next to him so that Young could take a seat.

"I understand that there was an incident this morning involving the distal port weapons array?" the scientist said.

"Yeah, it's no big deal, one of the—"

"Um, hi—you guys. Hi," Park said, standing, her fingers tracing over the rim of her still closed laptop.

An awkward silence descended.

"Hi," Eli said, drawing out the word.

Rush said nothing.

Young said nothing.

"What's up?" Eli asked, when it became apparent that no one else was going to speak.

"So, um, clearly there are like _circles_," Park said, making vague, overlapping circular motions with both hands, "Of knowledge? About what's going on exactly? but um—" Park trailed off.

There was another twenty seconds of awkward silence.

Young made it a point _not_ to look at Rush.

"You're wondering why I had a meltdown in the middle of a briefing, locked Volker in the control interface room, drew a schematic of the location of the Nakai tracking device on the floor of Colonel Young's quarters and was then unconscious for a day and a half," Rush said bluntly.

The man really did have a flair for—

Well, Young wasn't really sure what kind of 'flair' it was that Rush had, but the man had it in spades.

"Well I don't know if I'd put it that way—" Park began.

"Yup," Volker said, breaking in. "That pretty much sums it up. Except for the part where you told me you were hallucinating and then the part where Colonel Telford was placed under military arrest by Colonel Young, who then sat in the chair, and then was _also _out of commission for the rest of the day."

"Anything _else_?" Rush asked dryly. "Or is that it, then?"

"Well, there's also the part yesterday afternoon when TJ was found in a corner two levels down crying her heart out into a bulkhead," Volker replied.

The room was silent.

Rush looked away, running a hand through his hair.

Young grimaced and rubbed his jaw.

"Thank you for that little addition, Mr. Volker," Rush said acidly.

"You asked," Volker shot back. "And don't change the subject. What is going _on_ with you, Rush?"

Rush fidgeted with his pen.

His thoughts were a frenetic, anxious swirl, and despite the fact that he, to all outward appearances, was having a _good_ day, Young could tell that he was having trouble temporally sequencing a linear narrative that would satisfy the science team. His mind was overrun with oceanscapes, with the outline of silver towers against the blue-white of an alien sky, with images of the Nakai pacing the halls of Destiny, with—

/Throw out everything from Atlantis, genius. Those memories aren't yours./

Young reached in, bringing his thoughts together with Rush's, helping him _put_ together and _hold_ together a linear sequence of events long enough to describe it.

"I used the Tok'ra memory recall device brought on board by Colonel Telford to access overwritten memories from Destiny's original AI. This allowed me to find the tracking device but took a significant toll on my—psychological state."

"_Original_ AI?" Brody said, from the back of the room.

"Yes. The original version was created from the downloaded consciousness of an Ancient meshing with Destiny's available hardware. The personality of the AI was destroyed by the Nakai when they succeeded in boarding the ship and installing their tracking device early in the mission. In calling up the memories of the original AI, I also called up the program the Nakai used to destroy its original incarnation. This program then had to be eliminated by use of the neural interface device."

"And that's what Colonel Young did?" Volker asked dubiously. "Destroyed the program, using the chair?"

"Yes."

"Shouldn't that have been _you_?"

"Ideally, yes. But I was—unavailable to do so at the time."

"So Telford is under arrest because—he gave you the memory recall device?" Volker asked.

"Yes," Rush said.

"No," Young growled. "Telford is under arrest because he not only violated a direct order, he assaulted a civilian under his protection."

"Yes well. I suppose one could view it that way," Rush said, with a subtle eye roll. "Have I sufficiently delineated things for you?" He looked at the assembled science team.

"Um," Park said.

"_What_," Rush snapped.

"Just—glad you're okay. That's all."

"Yes well, thank you, Dr. Park. I also—" Rush broke off and flipped a page in the small notebook he had removed from his jacket pocket. "I also regret the necessity of locking you in the control interface room, Volker."

"You regret the _necessity_?" Volker echoed incredulously. "That is _the_ worst apology I've ever gotten."

"Yes well, you _attacked_ me," Rush snapped.

"Only because I thought you were going to take _life support_ offline," Volker replied.

"Knock it off," Young growled, glaring at the pair of them. "Both of you. I think at this point everyone is aware that events of the past several days could have been handled much better, by everyone, but we need to move on." He looked around the room. "So. Tracking device."

For a moment, no one spoke.

"Eli," Rush said, gesturing at him.

"So I'm running this then?"

"Yes," Rush said. "You're running this. In fact, you're running all the briefings from now on, and you're also in charge of Colonel Telford's research personnel until such point that he successfully navigates himself into a position to take them back—something that will be difficult for him to accomplish if you manage to do something useful with them in the meantime."

Young glanced obliquely at Rush. /Nice./

Rush gently kicked Young's chair.

"Wait wait wait. You're giving me _more_ work? This is _revenge_, isn't it? All because I wasn't paying attention to Math Chapter D? Do you _realize_ how much time I have for sleeping? Very little, okay? Did you not see that list? And I need _all_ of the limited _limited_ sleeping time, so—"

"Eli," Young said mildly, breaking into the cresting monologue. "He just _promoted_ you."

"I—wait. Seriously?"

Rush raised his eyebrows and made a sweeping motion with one hand.

"Oh. Okay. Still. My point stands. Also? If I get to run all the briefings then I'm changing things up. Number one, the daily briefing is now going to be at fourteen hundred hours, not _nineteen_ hundred hours so we can change stuff afterward and have the opportunity to meet again at like, _not_ midnight. No one likes that. Except you."

"Fine," Rush said.

"Okay. Also? We are going with first names, all the time, for _everyone_. Not just me and Chloe."

"I'd say that about half the time I get 'Miss Armstrong'," Chloe said. "At least, from Dr. Rush."

"I prefer 'Brody'," Brody said.

"Seriously you guys. There's a reason that everyone uses first names in academia and science and stuff, and it's about the data, not the hierarchy and—" Eli began.

"I could be Dale," Volker said. "I've been trying to get you people to call me 'Dale' for _years_ now. It's always 'Volker do this', 'Volker get my laptop'."

"_I_ call you Dale," Park said.

"You're different," Volker replied.

/He can't quite control a room like you can,/ Young projected to Rush.

"You _guys_," Eli said.

/Yes well. Few can./

"Wait, everyone calls, Lisa 'Lisa'," Chloe said. "Is this a gendered thing?"

/So true./

"Dr. Rush calls me 'Park'," Park said.

"He's very progressive," Chloe replied.

"A _gendered_ thing? Chloe, how can it be a _gendered thing_? What are you implying?" Eli asked, clearly affronted.

"Sucks to be you," Brody said. "_Eli_."

/Are you going to put a stop to this any time soon, or should I?/ Young asked, glancing at Rush.

"Oh right." Chloe looked at Eli, overtly apologetic. "Maybe it's an _age_ thing."

"_Not better_, Chloe," Volker said.

/I'm beginning to think they don't respect me anymore,/ Rush said.

"Well, I find it flattering." Park smiled at Chloe.

/Only one way to find out,/ Young shot back.

"Quiet," Rush snapped.

The room fell silent.

/Your reign of terror continues,/ Young said.

/I believe I said '_quiet'_./

"Can we proceed to the portion of this briefing where you communicate something useful?" Rush asked Eli politely.

"Yes. Yes we can. _Nick_."

"Then by all means, _Eli_. Proceed."

/He's been wanting to do that for _so_ long,/ Young projected to Rush.

/Nothing was stopping him./

/Do you have _any_ conception of how much work you are? You _say_ you do, but I just don't see how that's possible./

Rush spared him a half-amused, half-disdainful tilt of the head before focusing on Eli.

"Okay," Eli said. "So. By popular demand, I give you—actual info."

He hit a few keys on the monitor he was seated behind and a pink and blue projection of the Nakai device schematics shot into the air over their heads.

"So this is what we're looking at. Its composition is sixty percent some kind of neat alloy which, yeah, we have no idea exactly what it is since our R&D materials science wing doesn't so much _exist_ as not-exist. Anyway, the other forty percent is carbon-based. All told this thing weighs about fifteen pounds. It's hooked right into the life support system at one of the three points on the ship where life support has a physical input to the mainframe."

"Carbon," Rush repeated.

"Yup." Eli raised his eyebrows expectantly at Rush and shifted forward onto the balls of his feet.

Rush said nothing.

"That's _all_ you're going to say? '_Carbon_?'

"What do you want, a medal? If it's carbon-based, then it's carbon-based. Continue."

Something was beginning to warp Rush's thoughts.

/Genius?/ Young projected cautiously. /You okay?/

"This doesn't _surprise _you?" Eli asked.

Young felt the rapid flare-and-spiral of Rush's thoughts crystallize and shatter apart.

"Does the fact that the _Nakai_ have interfaced _biological_ material with a _mechanical_ framework _surprise_ me?" Rush said, his tone edged with sarcasm. "No, I can't say that it does. Tell me Chloe, are _you_ surprised?"

Again, his thoughts crystallized and shattered apart.

/What are you _doing_?/ Young snapped at Rush.

He got back a wave of distracted, panicky irritation.

Chloe gave Rush a long, steady look. "No. It doesn't surprise me," she said quietly.

Something about her measured response seemed to calm Rush down, and he stopped fracturing his own thoughts.

"It doesn't surprise me _at all_," she continued, "As I've been on the receiving end of such an interface myself. And because of that, I don't think I would have given the fact that part of their technology is carbon-based a second thought. But Eli asked around and uncovered something interesting." She looked at Rush for a few more seconds and then turned back to Eli. "Tell him what Telford's people told you."

"I thought I told you to keep Telford's people _out_ of this," Young growled at Eli.

/Did you?/ Rush shot at him.

/Yes, absolutely./

/You are _such_ an idiot. You can't tell _scientists_ not to talk to one another./

/I do it all the time./

/And tell me, how has that worked out for you?/

/Shut up./

"Yeah, I mean, I didn't tell them anything _specific_, it was more like I said, 'what would you say if I told you that I found a tracking device that kind of grew into the life support system like a plant'?"

"Very subtle," Rush said, with a half smile.

"I knew you'd like that," Eli replied. "Anyway, the answer was _wraith_ tech. As in, like, _the _wraith. The species."

He felt a familiar pressure build like an abrupt voltage differential in the back of Rush's mind, felt the scientist bring all the organization he had regained in the past day to bear on trying to suppress it, felt him try to fracture his train of thought as a defense, felt that it wasn't going to be enough.

"That isn't what the Nakai call them," Chloe said slowly, as if she were pulling the information from distant memory.

Young tried to diffuse the coming flashback, tried to—

"They call them the rippers of souls," Chloe finished.

_The pain is too much and the memories real and imagined are so immediate and he sees her, he _sees _her there—tortured, lost, alone as they kill her and remake everything she is into something twisted, something evil, something whose intellect is warped and enslaved to a base biological function, something that could never, _never_ ascend, and did it really happen this way? Maybe not, but maybe it _did_ and he doesn't know and he'll _never_ know and he cannot withstand this. He cannot withstand this. He cannot withstand this. He cannot withstand this. Even if he gets it out of the chair, the pain of this question won't fade, it won't _ever_ fade because he is a machine and he cannot withstand this. He cannot withstand this. He cannot withstand—_

Young snapped them out, the room coming back into focus.

"_God_," Rush hissed from between clenched teeth. He had stayed in his seat, his hands closed on the edge of the table.

"Easy," Young said, his eyes sweeping the room before looking back at Rush.

"That one was _yours_," Rush snapped, his shoulders hunched.

/Project, genius. And it was only halfway mine./

He got a faint wave of irritation as Rush unclenched one hand from where it was gripping the table and brought it up to his temple, fisting his fingers in his hair as if trying to keep himself from dissolution.

Eli had his arms crossed over his chest.

No one spoke.

Except for Rush.

"T' _fuck_ do you mean, '_halfway_'? You were _there_."

Young sighed.

/I know,/ he said, trying to project as much calm as possible into the torrential distress of Rush's mind. /While you were unconscious _I _started flashing back to the doctor's memories. That was one of them./

"Oh. Good. Wonderful. And you were going to tell me this _when_, exactly?"

/Well, we haven't really had the chance to talk this through and, frankly, last night you didn't seem very interested./

"Oh yes? Well here's a piece of information that you may not know. It's extremely _difficult_ to be _interested_ in _anything_ when you've been so dosed with antipsychotic drugs that you can't even fucking _lace up your own boots_. So—"

"_Rush_." Young's voice was very quiet.

/I get it, genius. You're right. But—you don't want to do this here./

Rush broke off, his hands clenching and unclenching a few times before his shook his hair back and looked up at Eli.

"Please continue," he said flatly.

Eli had his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth set in a thin line. He hesitated for only a moment.

"Sure. Of course. So I'm thinking that maybe now is not the best time to talk about the implications of the design of this thing, and instead we should just focus on getting it detangled from our life support." His tone had become uncharacteristically professional. "So, as requested, we have a step-by-step plan for device removal."

Eli clicked a button and a glowing textual display appeared.

Rush fidgeted with his pen.

Eli looked at Rush.

Rush looked back at Eli.

Wordlessly, Eli picked up his notebook, flipped through to somewhere in the middle and took a few steps forward to hand it to Rush. Young leaned over to look and saw that the entire page was covered with meticulous Ancient text, in what appeared to be a numbered list, corresponding to what was projected in midair in English.

Young felt Rush try and fail to suppress a wave of relief.

He rubbed his jaw.

"My initial thought was to go after the device right away, but I'm glad that we waited because Chloe discovered something that may prove problematic." Eli looked over at her.

"The Nakai are good at cutting holes in the side of vessels and avoiding atmospheric decompression," Chloe said. "And this device is buried _inside_ Destiny. It made sense since it's sort of _grown _into the life support system that it might also—_grow_ toward the outer hull of the ship in order to boost its signal strength. So we looked for evidence of that, and we found it."

Eli clicked a button and the midair display shifted away from the step-by-step outline to what appeared to be scans of Destiny's bulkheads.

"Now, it's not obvious, and actually Chloe had to point this out to all of us, but very fine tendrils of this device run through the walls with Destiny's other circuitry. We've highlighted them in yellow here." Eli clicked another button and Young could see thin strings of yellow running like a web through the glowing blue of the schematics.

"That's—inconvenient," Rush said.

"Yeah. That was my thought as well. There's no way we can cut off communication between the device in the life support system and the transmitter in the hull without completely gutting our own circuitry in the process. That was probably intentional on the part of the Nakai."

"Undoubtedly," Rush said dryly.

"Sorry," Young interjected, "But you guys are going to have to lay this out for me. Why not just go for the device itself? This crap in the walls should be dead anyway once we get this thing out of our life support system."

"Yeah," Eli said, drawing out the word. "I don't know that we're going to be able to do that, actually."

"We _need_ to get rid of this device," Young snapped.

/Calm down, will you? He's going to explain./ Rush projected faintly. Young squinted against the sudden headache.

"Not true, actually," Eli said. "Rush, er, _Nick, _is just jumping ahead here. What I was going to say is that technically we don't have to get rid of it, we have to stop it from _transmitting_. At the most basic level there are three ways to do that. Number one is to remove the device itself—which I guess, let's call it the power supply that pulls energy from Destiny's life support system. Number two is to cut the connections between the power supply and the transmitter located in the hull of the ship. Number three is disable the transmitter."

"And option number two is already off the table," Young said. "Okay fine. So one or three—which is it going to be?"

"Well there are problems with both," Eli said. "Brody—er, _damn it_. Adam is going to take us through the problems with number one."

"Like I said, I'm good with 'Brody'. Now, removing the device itself would be best," he began, "but it's no coincidence that they placed it where they did. Not only does it pull power from the life support system, it creates a portal through which they could interface with the AI. It's probably the point from which they launched the program that destroyed the original. Whatever it was that was driving Rush crazy."

Eli cleared his throat.

"Yeah, I'm not calling him Nick. It's too weird."

"Not what I—" Eli began.

"Um, didn't you found a civilization that _worshiped_ the guy?" Volker asked dryly. "It seems like, comparatively speaking, calling him 'Nick' is not that big of a deal."

Rush raised his eyebrows at the pair of them.

"For the last time, _Dale_, that was _not me_, okay? God—"

"_Quiet_," Rush said, the word drawn out and disdainful.

Silence fell.

Rush narrowed his eyes at Volker and Brody. "Continue," he said, after a few seconds.

"My point was," Brody said, recovering his equilibrium, "that if we go for the device itself and try to either remove it or damage it in situ, we risk screwing up not just life support, but also the AI. This seems like a bad idea. Especially in light of—" Brody broke off, looking at Rush, "all your stuff."

"Okay, so it's option three then?" Young asked. "Disable the transmitter? Is that why I saw the letters EVA in step seventeen of your step-by-step plan?"

"Yeah, option three is the best," Eli said. "But it's not without its own problems."

"Being nearly impossible kind of tops the list," Volker said. "In order to disable the transmitter we're going to have to precisely correlate its position on the surface of the ship to where we've mapped it to based on the mess of inputs it has. Eli, show the scans of the hull."

Eli clicked a button and Young found himself looking at a blue schematic of what was, apparently, the exterior plating of the ship. It was shot through with delicate yellow lines that seemed to become more concentrated in a broad, tangled mass.

"So, yeah," Eli said. "We know that the device is going to be kind of right here—" he broke off to wave his hand at the place where the web of inputs was most dense, "But, as you can see, there's no obvious nexus point that we can specifically map because all the tendrils are so twisty. This means we have to look for it, visually, within the confines of a large area of the hull."

"Is it too much to request a _scale bar_?" Rush asked.

"How large?" Young asked, nearly simultaneously.

Eli grimaced. "This area," he said waving at the image, where the inputs formed a densely tangled loop, "is about twenty by thirty feet."

"Metric system," Rush said. "You people. Honestly."

"Okay, fine. Whatever. Roughly six by nine meters. Anyway, the point is, that is a _very_ large area, especially when what we're looking for probably blends in with the hull and could be as small as a maybe—a poker chip?"

"And I'm guessing," Young growled, "that there's no way to search for it without dropping out of FTL."

"Nope," Eli said. "That brings with it a whole host of other problems, not the least of which is that the Nakai now have a point on our current trajectory, seeing as we had that ten second drop out of FTL last night. Given the point we started from, they've now got a defined line to follow through space so—they're going to be significantly behind us, but they _will_ show up."

"It might take them a while," Park said hopefully. "When we vanish at FTL they're forced to pick a likely trajectory, but they couldn't have predicted that we'd change our course and head into empty space. They may be quite a bit out of the way by this point."

"True," Eli said. "We might have as much as a day of lead time on them before they show up. I don't know that that's going to be enough."

"It will be," Rush said, his eyes on the notebook that Eli had handed him. "I'm certain I can cut down the search time significantly."

"Coolness," Eli said. "You going to do the whole ship-whisperer thing you've got going?"

Rush looked up at him with raised eyebrows.

"What? You have a better term for it?"

"If what you mean by that is that I can tell the difference between Ancient and Nakai technology by _looking_, then the answer is yes. This will, however, require me to actually _look_."

"At the risk of getting ridiculed, I will respond with—duh?"

"As in, not via kino."

"As in," Eli said slowly, "you think _you _need to do the EVA."

"No," Young said flatly.

The room was silent.

"_No,_" Young repeated. "Absolutely not."

"Um," Eli said, "it may actually be the best way."

"He can barely walk down a _hallway_ without having some kind of problem," Young snapped.

"Thank you," Rush said dryly. "Thank you for that."

"All he has to do," Eli said quietly, "is _find_ it. The extraction itself can be done by someone else. It's shouldn't be _too_ difficult. We can send out a four man team in the shuttle—two to find and mark the device and then two to do the actual removal."

"I think it should be me," Chloe said, "who does the removal. Eli can walk me through it, and Rush will be on hand in the shuttle should anything go wrong. But I—I have a _sense_ for their technology. If there are any defenses built into the device, I think I can avoid triggering them."

"Hey," Young said sharply. "This is not a democracy. I have the final say in who is going and who is _not_," he finished, looking pointedly at Rush. "Chloe, you have no experience with EVAs, and it's not as simple as just walking around in a space suit. I don't want _either_ of you doing this."

"You realize that if I stage another mutiny, this time I will certainly be successful, correct?" Rush asked, giving him a pointed look.

"You're not going to stage a mutiny."

"Won't I?" Rush asked mildly, raising his eyebrows.

"You guys. Seriously. It's cute, but get a room, okay? Now. The science team is cool with the concept of chain-of-command, right? Right. We are. But this is going to be a difficult thing to do under the most ideal circumstances and there's no point in not using the resources that we have to our best advantage. It's a really bad idea to stack the deck _against_ ourselves. Is Rush kind of unstable? Yes. Yes, he is. But we can work around that. Does Chloe have any EVA experience? No. No, she does not. But we can work around that too."

Young reached up to rub his fingers across his jaw.

"We'll send Matt with Chloe. He has tons of EVA experience and they've got a good working relationship," Eli said, "and we'll send Greer with Rush."

"Greer." Young crossed his arms. "Why _Greer_."

"Um," Eli said. "Lots of reasons. Look, everyone's a fan of the new leadership dynamic and all, but I still would say that you're a bit hit or miss in your ability to keep—"

Eli paused to look at Rush, who was glaring daggers at him.

"Anyway—you know. Crap is probably going to happen during this whole transmitter-removing project. So, if _you're_ not going to be on the bridge when the Nakai drop out in the middle of this thing, then who _is_ going to be there? Maybe TJ, or Varro, or TJ _and _Varro, but—you're the better choice I think. You're kind of irreplaceable in that whole attack coordination thing."

Young sighed.

/_That_ is an example of what is known as 'logical thinking',/ Rush projected at him with some difficulty. /I just point that out because experience indicates you may be unfamiliar with such a concept./

/Shut up, _Rush_./ Young projected a wave of irritation in the other man's direction.

He got back a faint wave of amusement in return.

"All right," he said to Eli. "I'll consider your suggestion. Let's hear this plan of yours."

* * *

><p>Late that evening Young sat on his couch, looking through a handwritten copy of Eli's proposed plan for something like the fifteenth time.<p>

"So, you think this is going to work?" Young asked, finally putting the pages aside.

"Mmm," Rush replied, not looking up from the pages he was studying.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Yes yes," Rush said.

"Was that yes you're listening, or yes it's going to work, or one yes for each question?"

Rush was sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, his left foot elevated on the low table. When he didn't respond to Young's question, Young reached out and flicked a piece of his hair. Rush jerked away and turned to give him a pointed look.

"May I _help_ you with something?" Rush said, acidly.

"You must not like _some_ aspect of this," Young said, holding up the plan. "Because you've been pouring over it for _hours_ now. So spill. What's the problem?"

Rush raised his eyebrows and hooked a hand over his shoulder.

"There's no problem, per se, but, not to put too fine a point on it, the removal of this device is going to take four to five hours, best case scenario. Between finding it and removing it, we may not complete the job before the Nakai get a fix on our position and we have to pull out."

"Okay," Young said, waving his hand to indicate that Rush should continue.

"The problem is, that after a prolonged FTL jump, we're going to drop out with depleted power and with the likely prospect of a firefight on our hands."

"So you want to drop out next to a star," Young said, picking up some salient details in the spiral of Rush's thoughts.

"Yes, ideally, I do. But we won't reach the next galaxy for another several weeks, and I'd rather not wait that long to implement this plan."

"What's with you and the timetables, genius?"

"We'll wait if we have to, but—" Rush shifted his hand from his shoulder to his hair, and back again. "We may not have to."

Young leaned forward, his elbows on his knees his head buried in his hands. "It's always something with you, isn't it? God." He looked up, resting his chin in his hands. "What. Tell me."

"There's no need to look so fuckin' despondent. We simply look for an orphan star," Rush said.

"Orphan star?" Young repeated.

"A star without a galaxy—sometimes they trail off the end of a galactic spiral, sometimes they're ejected by gravitational slingshot effects when galaxies collide—but, this intergalactic void that we're in is not _entirely_ featureless."

"Sort of like stopping at an oasis in the desert?"

"Exactly."

"You know, bands of thieves hang out near oases."

"Thieves," Rush repeated.

"Look it's a known fact. If you have a place with a resource in the middle of a resource-less void, that's what any party traveling through said void is going to gravitate toward. It's going to attract the wrong kind of people."

"Yes, I suppose tactically you're correct. If I were the Nakai, knowing what they do about Destiny, which is, quite frankly, nearly as much as _we_ know—"

"You'd head for any likely looking star along our trajectory."

Rush leaned his head back, digging his fingers into his neck. "It's not a perfect solution." He looked obliquely up at Young. But once we drop out, they'll know our location anyway. Whether we're exactly where they predict us to be or not—either way they'll still have a fix on us."

"How far behind us do you think they are?" Young asked, his head still resting on his hand.

"The sooner we drop out, the greater the disparity in our positions," Rush said, "because they're faster than us, I think. But, presuming we can drop out sometime in the next three days, I'd say we'll have somewhere between five and twenty-four hours."

Young sighed. "What does the AI think of all this?"

"The AI is—busy."

"What do you mean _busy_?" Young growled.

"It's—having a difficult time right now."

"It's a _machine_, Rush. How can it have a hard time?"

"Oh stop. Your understanding of it ought to be at least _somewhat_ nuanced at this point and you know very well that it understands causation and it has feelings and is capable of changing its own behavior following the input of new information. Maybe you should try actually _engaging_ with it at times other than when it's panicking and trying to annex my consciousness. Hmm?"

"Um," Young said.

"You frighten it," Rush said. "And when it is frightened it is at its most dangerous. Fortunately, most of the time, you do not frighten _me_, which reassures it. Somewhat."

"Well," Young said after a brief silence. "It frightens me as well."

"I know," Rush said, closing his eyes. "I understand why it would. Why it does. And much as I would love to negotiate between the two of you, I know how that would end. And I—" he broke off, bringing one hand up to his forehead. "I can't. Not now, and maybe—not ever."

"Okay," Young said.

Rush looked over at him.

"Okay," Young said again.

Rush looked away, shifting his hand back to his neck.

"Get out of here," Young murmured, sliding sideways and pulling Rush's hand away from his shoulder. "You're terrible at this."

"Terrible at what?" Rush asked.

"At _this_," Young said, pressing his thumbs into the tense muscles in Rush's shoulder and neck.

Rush tipped his head forward and leaned back subtly into his hands. "_Relatively_ terrible," he murmured.

"What other kind of terrible is there?" Young asked.

"You're so fucking witty these days."

"I've always been witty."

"I very much doubt that."

Young subtly began to project a thread of calm at the other man.

"What is this like for you?" Young asked.

"It feels indescribably first-fucking-rate," Rush said. "My neck is always killing me."

"I know," Young said, pressing his thumbs along either side of the man's spine. "Most of the time it's killing _me_ as well. But—that isn't what I meant."

Rush said nothing.

"What is all of this like for you? Constantly talking with the AI. Knowing that your brain actually combines with it when you're in the chair, or when Destiny pulls on you. Knowing that you're getting turned into—something you're not."

Rush said nothing.

"Come on," Young said quietly. "You never talk to me."

"I talk to you continuously," Rush replied.

"But not about this. Not about how any of this makes you _feel_."

"I don't think it matters," Rush said guardedly.

Young was quiet for a moment, as he worked on a particularly stubborn knot in Rush's right shoulder.

"I think how you feel—may matter a lot, actually," Young said finally. "I think it may determine what happens to you at the end of all of this."

"Possibly," Rush whispered.

"So," Young said quietly. "How _do_ you feel?"

He couldn't see Rush's pained half smile, but he could feel it through their link.

The scientist's thoughts were a disturbed swirl of images—hurt and raw with people running through them in simultaneous strings of interrelated memories like a tortured tangle of threads. An acute sense of guilt, of regret, of utter entrapment suddenly slammed into Young's mind before withdrawing again into the unpredictable flicker of Rush's thoughts.

"Like I'm doing my best," Rush said.

"Yeah," Young replied, his eyes shut, his hands digging into Rush's shoulders.

* * *

><p>After a day and a half of preparations, Young sat in the central command chair on the bridge, waiting for Destiny to find an orphan star that met the criteria specified by Rush.<p>

Camile Wray was at his elbow.

"You can't just leave Colonel Telford in his quarters, with no access to any kind of legal recourse," she said, her arms crossed over her chest.

"I hear what you're saying," he replied mildly, looking at the dim swirl of starless space in the forward view. "But yet, that's exactly what I'm doing."

"I noticed," Wray said dryly. "I'm trying to help you here, colonel, not make your life difficult. You're treading on ethically dubious ground and if you continue in this manner you're going to force the top brass to consider either reprimanding or replacing you, which would then put you into _direct_ _conflict_ with the SGC if you fail to obey their orders."

Young sighed.

"Although," Wray said quietly, "if it came to that, I—"

She paused.

Young looked over at her, raising his eyebrows.

"I would consider—" she broke off again, and then squared her shoulders. "I would back you against the SGC."

"You would back me?" Young echoed in surprise. "That could then put _you_ into direct conflict with the IOA."

"I'm aware of that."

"In fact," Young said, "It certainly _would_, since I'm pretty sure the whole push to get Telford aboard in the first place came, at least in part, from his connections to the IOA. General O'Neill has no particular love for the man."

"True," Wray said, not looking at him.

"Um," Young said, squinting his eyes in consternation as he took in her profile, "can I ask you _why_ in gods name you would back me against the IOA?"

She shot him a cool look. "You seem surprised."

"I think astonished, maybe, is a better word."

"You've proven yourself extremely capable of handling a wide variety of leadership challenges over the past two and a half years. Our losses, compared to, say, the Atlantis expedition as calculated on a percentage basis are much, _much,_ lower, despite having been in a comparable number of battles and being extremely strapped for resources. Not to mention your crew is over half civilian scientists."

"Maybe that's why," Young said mildly. "Circumstances are different—"

"They are, but—you've made a name for yourself, Everett."

"I have a feeling that I have _you_ to thank for that," Young said raising his eyebrows. "I haven't even reported back to the SGC in person for something like eight weeks."

Wray shrugged. "Well. There may be some truth to that. But as far as the matter at hand goes—I _will_ back you if you come into open conflict with Homeworld Command, but I would prefer that it didn't come to that, if it can be avoided."

"Yeah," Young sighed. "I see your point. So, what am I going to have to give Telford?"

"Access to the communications stones at a minimum. You're also going to have to formally charge him in a military court—I can arrange that for you by proxy, by the way—and then allow him access to counsel. You're also likely going to have to let him out of his quarters periodically."

Young rubbed his jaw. "See, I don't—"

The sudden drop out of FTL caused him to break off.

Wray steadied herself against the unpleasant sensation with one hand on the command chair.

"Here we go," Volker said, squinting out the forward view at the yellow star that took up a large portion of the visible spacescape. Beside it, a planet was evident—one side lit up a bright, searing white, the other side shrouded in darkness.

Young stood and pulled out his radio. "Scott," he said. "Assemble your team and launch as soon as you're ready."

"Understood."

Young watched Chloe pull in a deep breath, her dark hair highlighted by the light from the star, before she deliberately got to her feet. Her face was set and impassive.

On her way past him, Young squeezed her shoulder and she gave him a wan smile.

"You got this, Chloe," Volker said, sparing a glance at her as she walked out.

Chloe didn't respond.

"Um," Brody said, looking out the forward view as he came to stand at Volker's shoulder. "That's no moon."

"It's a space station," Volker whispered dramatically.

"Guys," Young snapped. "Star Wars quotations are only allowed when they're _not_ misleading. Unless—"

"Nope," Volker said. "Sorry. It's—definitely just a planet."

Young sighed.

/?/ He shot a wordless wave of inquiry at Rush.

"Lisa," Wray said over her radio. "We need you to take Chloe's bridge shift."

/Eli's on his way,/ Rush shot back. The scientist was on his way to the shuttle bay.

/Be _careful_,/ Young projected forcefully.

/Yes yes. Don't—rearrange anything in your mind./

/Pull all the shit you left in there forward, you mean?/

/Yes. That. Don't do it./

/I don't _intend_ to do so. Usually./

/Make an effort this time, will you?/

/You're a lot of work./

/But I'm worth it./

Young shook his head.

"Guys. What have we got?" he asked, turning to Volker and Brody. "What's the story with this planet?"

"It's orbiting fairly close to its parent star," Volker said, his eyes fixed on his monitors rather than on the forward view. "I think—yup. Yup, it's tidally locked, which probably explains why it stuck with its star when it was ejected from its parent galaxy."

"Any life down there?" Young asked, feeling edgy.

"No way," Volker said. "Tidally locked planets—" he broke off, looking intently at the monitors. "And, forget what I was about to say, actually. I'm picking up signs of civilization in the twilight band_._" He looked up at Young.

/Interesting,/ Rush commented in the back of his mind. /Tell Volker to specify./

"Specify," Young snapped.

Volker and Brody exchanged a significant look.

Young shot a wave of irritation at Rush, and then said added, "please," in a more sedate tone.

"So, in the habitable band we've got vegetation, we've got a lot of—oh boy. Yup, we've got naquadah-based structures. It's not _exactly_ naquadah, but some alloy—I can't tell you much more than that, not sure if it's Ancient or just something similar. I'm getting no power readings though—by all indications these are probably ruins."

Young breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm assuming you would have told me already if anything had come up on short range, right?"

"Yeah," Volker said. "We've got nothing."

"Well, keep scanning the planet, we might as well learn what we can about it."

"It doesn't seem like the nicest place," Volker continued. "Tidal forces have made it seismically unstable, and the upper atmosphere is a seething mass of ionizing radiation."

""Hey people," Eli said, bursting onto the bridge, his laptop and notebook tucked under one arm. Park was right behind him. "I heard that we have a _tidally_ _locked planet_? Has anyone named it, because if not, I vote for either Ryloth or Twi'lek, that is capital Twi, apostrophe, lek, which, as you may or may not know is the—"

"It's tidally _locked_?" Park repeated, speaking over Eli. "I _hate_ tidally locked planets."

"Number one, that's a lie because you hate nothing," Eli replied. "And number two, even if you did hate something, tidally locked planets? That's like the _weirdest_ thing to choose."

"They have _earthquakes_," Park said. "As I think I've told you guys—"

"Yeah yeah, broken glass, bleeding feet, trauma. We know," Eli said. "Is the shuttle away yet?"

"Not yet," Young said. "Everything is in place, I assume?"

"Yeah, we've been ready for _days_. Or, at least, hours."

"Colonel, this is Scott," Young's radio crackled. "We are good to go. Permission to launch?"

"What's our current trajectory?" Young asked the room at large.

"We're at low impulse, heading toward the star," Park said. "The fact that we have a planet in orbit changes our approach vector slightly. We want to give that thing plenty of clearance."

"At our current course and speed we should have a good six or seven hours before any solar radiation starts to make things uncomfortable for people on the hull," Volker added.

"You're clear to launch," Young said.

"Yes sir," Scott replied. "Rush and Greer are suiting up now."

Young sighed.

"I'd feel better if we had _four _suits," Wray said quietly. "I don't like the idea of depressurizing the back of the shuttle with people in the cockpit who don't have any kind of—"

"Yup," Young said. "There are a _lot_ of things I don't like about this plan."

He depressed the button on his radio. "James, are you in position?"

"Yes sir," James said. "Barnes and I are standing by. If anyone needs an evac through the hull, Barnes is already suited up and good to go."

"Good," Young replied. "Hopefully you won't hear from us."

Young drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair, keeping his link with Rush wide open while he watched the planet in the forward view.

He was tempted to ask Rush about his thoughts on the remnants of civilization found in the twilight band, but he didn't want to distract the other man.

After a few moments, Brody cut through the chatter on the bridge with, "they're in position."

"Destiny, we're depressurizing the aft compartment," Scott's voice came over the communications system rather than via radio.

"Okay," Eli said.

Young watched Park's shoulders tense.

Beside him, Wray took a half step closer to his chair.

Volker chewed his lip.

The bridge was silent.

"Guys," Eli said into the quiet. "It's going to be fine. We just checked the seal again in the shuttle bay half an hour ago."

A few more seconds passed.

In the back of Young's mind, he felt Rush grip the metal frame of the shuttle as atmosphere vented to space.

After a few seconds, the scientist stepped forward onto the hull of the ship, Greer beside him.

"Hey Destiny," Scott's voice came through the speaker system, relief evident in his tone. "No problems with depressurization—we're good here. Greer and Rush are on the hull. Kinos are deployed."

In the back of his mind, the stark, bright light of the star gleamed painfully off the hull as Rush looked out over the expanse of silver in front of him.

"We're getting visuals," Eli called. "I'm patching them down to the feed in the mess now. Yay for crowdsourcing."

"How many people did you end up assembling to scan the footage for anomalies?" Young asked him.

"Um how many? Try the entire crew organized into hierarchical teams based on experience with Ancient systems. Most likely though? Rush beats all of them."

"The _entire_ crew?" Young echoed faintly.

"Unless they had another job, yeah. People want to help, you know. Plus, there's no TV here, so— 'save the ship' is a very popular leisure activity."

"I guess," Young said, staring into space as he watched Rush begin to grid off the area to be searched using a permanent marker attached to a thin piece of metal piping.

"He gridding?" Eli asked, looking back at Young.

"Yeah. He's gridding." Young said.

"Oh yup," Eli said, cycling through the kino feeds on his monitor. "I see him. God, I can't believe he's _this_ _accurate_ using nothing but the scans I showed him this morning."

"Yeah, well, he has a lot of processing power."

"Yeah. Apparently he can also draw _really_ straight lines." Eli's radio crackled. "Eli, this is Varro, some of the teams down here are already coming up with stuff they want you to look at."

"No," Eli said grabbing his radio. "Tell them to simmer down—we haven't even finished marking the area that the kinos are going to search—whatever they're seeing now—is normal stuff." Eli paused to look back over his shoulder at Brody and Volker. "One of you guys might have to go down there for fifteen minutes and give them a refresher in 'normal' versus 'weird'."

Young continued to watch Rush mark out a six-by-nine meter grid on Destiny's hull in the back of his mind. Abruptly, Daniel Jackson appeared in Rush's peripheral vision, walking along next to him without an EVA suit.

But then, of course, he wouldn't be.

Rush jerked in response to Young's sudden surge of alarm, and Greer reached out to steady him.

/Calm down,/ Rush snapped. /You're extremely distracting./

"Doc, you good?" Greer asked through the in-helmet communications system.

"Yes, yes," Rush said, regaining his equilibrium.

/Sorry,/ Young replied, backing off slightly.

/Stop talking to me. I can't do this and carry on three conversations at once. Or rather, I would _prefer_ not to./

Young sent him a wave of acknowledgement.

"Hey," Eli was saying, "hello—Earth to Colonel Young—"

"_What_," Young snapped, his focus abruptly pulled back to the bridge.

Eli exchanged a meaningful look with Park. "Long range sensors are picking up some indications that there might be instabilities in the solar corona."

"Meaning what?" Young asked.

"Meaning that it's within the realm of possibility that we might experience a solar flare sometime within the next day."

"And that would be bad, I assume," Young said, raising his eyebrows.

"It depends," Park said, "but it could create an electromagnetic disturbance that interferes with our equipment."

"So, do we need to change our course?" Young asked.

"Um, maybe," Park replied.

"Park. That's really not helpful."

"I know—it's just, there are pros and cons. Pros would be that if we change course right now, pull a 180 and head back out into empty space, at the slow sublight speeds we're maintaining, it might be enough to take us out of range of the flare—but it might not. It depends on the strength of the flare. The major con is that if we do that, we lose the option of going for the star when—er, _if_ the Nakai show up."

"Eli," Young said.

"We should stay on course," Eli replied. "There's no guarantee that if we turn around we'll even make it outside the radius of the flare. But we will guarantee that the star won't be an option for us anymore, and that was the whole point of picking this location in the first place."

Young nodded, massaging his jaw.

Beside him, Wray crossed her arms.

"Okay. Stay on course. We'll just hope they finish in time."

"Yeah," Eli said, drawing out the word as he turned away from the monitor he had been hovering over. On his way to his usual station, kino feed in hand, he stopped a few feet away from Young.

"There can be no pressuring of Chloe when she is working on that device. Pressure Rush all you want. But Chloe—" Eli shook his head. "She knows already," he added quietly. "She _knows_."

Young raised his eyebrows.

"I'm serious," Eli said quietly.

"Yeah," Young replied. "I got it."

Eli nodded and passed toward the back of the room.

/You get that genius?/

/No. Get what?/ Rush asked, as he finished the grid and the kinos began their algorithmic sweeping.

/We may have a solar flare in our near future./

/Well. _That_ would be a catastrophe,/ Rush commented.

/So, maybe you should speed things up as much as you can?/

He got a wave of irritation in reply as Rush looked out across the shadowless silvered surface of Destiny's hull. Young felt his attention split as the scientist engaged with the AI, asking it a question that seemed to be half in Ancient, half in code.

A headache flowered behind Young's eyes as Destiny answered.

"Um, is he just _standing_ there?" Eli asked.

"That's what it looks like," Brody said.

"Um, hi? Eli to Nick, I thought we were going to be doing a methodical sweep of the grid, what are you _doing_?"

"Don't worry about it, Eli," Rush replied.

"You _always_—wait. That response is _so_ inappropriate that it makes me suspect that it's kind of like an inside joke we have now? Anyway, how am I supposed to coordinate this efficiently if I don't know what you're doing?"

"I'm making an educated guess about where to look."

"I thought you were going to walk the grid. But if you don't want to, we already have a few candidates that are coming up from the teams in the mess. I think they're a little trigger happy down there though, just FYI." He paused.

Rush said nothing.

"Um, _hello_?" Eli snapped.

Rush said nothing, shutting out nearly everything except the data he was getting from Destiny.

"Seriously?" Eli said to the room at large, "he's going to stop talking to me _now_?"

"Eli," Young said. "Settle down and give him a minute."

Slowly, Rush started forward, pacing over the gridlines he had made, his steps slightly out of their usual rhythm due to the catch and pull of his magnetized boots. Greer kept pace with him, and in his peripheral vision, Young could see the unhindered gait of the AI.

The kinos seemed to be able to sense their trajectory and altered their search pattern.

"God, he's disrupting everything—" Eli murmured, from somewhere behind him.

"What else is new?" Young murmured.

Wray shot him an arch look.

Rush stopped in near the intersection of two gridlines and knelt with difficulty.

"Yeah, he's where thirty-nine and forty meet forty-five and forty-six," Eli said over his radio. "You guys have anything in that region?"

Young watched as the AI knelt next to Rush, its face angled out toward the star in the oblique, slanting light that reflected from the surface of Destiny's hull.

"It's very close," Jackson said.

"Scio," Rush murmured, "but I don't see a physical correlate."

"You got something, Doc?" Greer said, standing next to him.

"Maybe," Rush replied, his hand spread on the deck plating. He began running his glove over the hull.

"Careful," Greer said. "Don't tear your glove."

"It's perfectly—" Rush broke off abruptly as his hand vanished from view hand he fell forward, unbalanced.

Young felt Greer's hand close around Rush's shoulder and yank him back.

"Mmm," Rush said, unperturbed. "Clever."

"What the _hell_?" Eli snapped.

Young took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

"God damn, Doc. Take a year off my life why don't you?" Greer said, his hand still closed over Rush's shoulder.

Rush narrowed his eyes, studying the featureless metal. "The transmitter is concealed by a small holographic projection of normal hull—likely the power for the projection comes from the device itself. We never would have found this via kino. Chloe, are you watching this?"

"Yes," Chloe said, her voice tight. "I've been watching."

"I'm going to determine the boundaries of the holographic projection and then attempt to disable it so you'll have an unobstructed view of the transmitter."

"Negative," Chloe said. "Just determine the boundaries. I'll disable the projection."

"You're not going to be able to see what you're doing."

"Better I trigger something than you do," Chloe said shortly.

Young felt Rush grimace. "Greer," he said. "Do you have that marker?"

Very delicately, using the tip of the marker itself as a probe, Rush mapped out the area of the hull covered by the holographic projection.

It was no larger than a sheet of notebook paper.

Rush narrowed his eyes, looking at the outline he had drawn.

"Quid credis?" Rush murmured at Jackson, who was kneeling across from him.

"I think that you've already ruled out any kind of triggering device that operates via interruption of the holographic field when you rather imprudently put your hand through it," the AI said quietly, looking up at him. "Furthermore, your hand appeared to vanish into the metal, which implies to me that the projection originates from the perimeter of the depression, rather than from the center."

"Chloe, did you get all that?" Rush asked.

/Genius, she can't hear the AI./

"Sorry," Chloe said. "I don't know what you mean."

"Nevermind. I think the holographic projection may be originating from the edges of the depression in the hull. I'm going to test that theory by trying inserting my hand immediately along the edge to see if I can disrupt it."

"Um, I really think _I _should be the one to do it—"

/No,/ Young projected forcefully.

"Don't you dare," Greer said mildly, dropping into a crouch next to him. "_I'll _do it."

Before anyone could stop him, Greer had gingerly slid his fingers down along one edge of the depression.

The appearance of solid silver metal vanished to be replaced with a dark, shallow space. Immediately, Greer slid a second hand adjacent to the first, blocking the projected light along an entire side of the cavity.

Rush added his hands and, between them, they had blocked half the perimeter of the hole.

In the center of the depression they could see a small device.

"Zoom in, zoom in, zoom _in_," Eli muttered, manipulating the kino feed.

"It looks like we can block the projected electromagnetic waves that conceal this thing without triggering any unwanted surprises," Rush said. "The trick is finding something we can line the depression with so that Chloe will have sufficient room to work."

"Um, I put electrical tape into Chloe's kit," Eli said. "Feel free to give me a raise at any time."

Young rolled his eyes.

"How much _do_ I get paid, actually?" Eli asked. "I get paid, right?"

/Get your ass back in that shuttle,/ Young shot at Rush.

/Yes yes,/ Rush replied.

* * *

><p>Six hours later found Young standing behind Eli's station, watching the kino feed as Chloe meticulously worked to disconnect the transmitter from its countless power inputs. Eli sat hunched in his chair, furiously flipping back and forth between pages in his notebook.<p>

"Okay and so that thing? The black thing? I think it's kind of like their version of a diode?"

"I said no _jargon_, Eli," Chloe said sharply.

"Diode isn't jargon, it's like—a thing. Even _I've_ heard of it."

"A two terminal electronic component with non-linear conductance and resistance," Rush said over the radio.

"See?" Chloe said. "Just say that. Thank you. And yes, yes it is a diode."

"Don't touch it; it looks like it's a check valve, and it may help us out if we accidentally trigger an overload in step forty-six."

"Well, I have to get underneath it," Chloe said, "if I'm going to go after the last power input directly."

"Maybe you can just go for it indirectly—it runs along the side that's across from where you're working before it sort of twists around to end up underneath the transmitter proper."

Young carefully linked up with Rush, who was sitting in the cockpit of the shuttle next to Greer, his left ankle resting on his right knee, as he followed Chloe's progress with a handheld monitor.

/How are we doing?/ Young projected at him.

/She's getting tired,/ Rush said absently. /But we're nearly done./

/How close is nearly?/

/Half an hour if she goes for the power supply indirectly, maybe ten minutes if she goes for it directly./

The sudden flashing of an indicator light caught Rush's attention and he looked up at the control panel of the shuttle.

"Oh," Park said abruptly. "Hi everyone. Okay, we, um, we're seeing an abrupt increase in the activity of the coronasphere."

"Chloe," Rush said, his voice calm, but his thoughts suddenly swirling and flaring in abrupt anxiety. "I think you should go for the power supply directly. Disconnect the diode and—be careful not to trigger an overload."

"What's going on?" Chloe asked, the words sharp and frightened.

"Nothing," Rush said.

"What kind of activity?" Eli snapped.

"Magnetic flux," Park said. "Lots of flux."

"Oh god, okay," Eli said. "Oh god. No one tell Chloe."

"Do we definitely have a flare?" Young asked the room at large.

"No, but it's looking very likely," Park said.

"You're good," Scott said, his voice quiet, clearly meant for Chloe alone. "You're _awesome_. You got this."

"Chloe," Rush said. "Stop working for a moment. I'm about to rotate the ship. It's going to get extremely dark. You'll need your light."

"He's _what_?" Eli snapped. "He can do that?"

"Understood," Chloe said. "Matt, can you—thanks."

/Rush, what are you doing?/

"Port thrusters are firing," Volker said. "He's ah—putting the bulk of the ship in between them and the star. It will be some help, but if we have a flare—they'll have to get off that hull."

"How long will they have?" Young asked.

"After we have a confirmed flare? Ten minutes, tops, before the radiation reaches lethal levels. Their suits will protect them, but—not for long."

"All right, Chloe," Rush said as the ship rotation stabilized. "You're clear to keep working. You have ten minutes."

"Ten minutes until _what?_" Chloe asked, her voice edged with anxiety.

"That's when you need to be finished," Rush said calmly. "It would be better if you could do it in half that."

"What?" Eli snapped. "What is he _doing_? Does he know something we don't? Does he think we're having a flare?" He grabbed his radio. "Just, stay cool, Chloe," Eli said, "no big deal. If you don't finish this time, you just go back out. No problem."

"Everyone stop talking please," Chloe said.

/Ten minutes?/ Young shot at Rush.

/Based on _that_ magnetic flux? There's already been a flare. You'll detect it shortly./

Young drummed his fingers on the armrest. On the shuttle, Rush did the same thing.

"Long range sensors are—we have a confirmed coronal mass ejection," Park snapped, cutting across the chatter on the bridge.

"We're going to start experiencing electromagnetic disruption in less than two minutes," Volker said.

/Genius, how bad is this going to be?/

/Unknown./

"Call the shuttle back."

Young jumped, startled as the AI appeared next to him.

"Call the shuttle _back,_" Jackson repeated. "The other two can evacuate over the hull."

/Are you getting this?/ Young shot at Rush.

/Yes. The AI is extremely concerned, but the egress point on the hull is over seventy-five meters from their current position, whereas we are three meters away./

/Worst case scenario, what happens to the shuttle?/

/Worst-case scenario, we lose navigation, communications, and computational control generally and when we try to make it back to the docking port we become ballistic and crash into the sun. Well, actually,/ Rush amended, looking out the forward view of the shuttle, /we'd probably crash into the planet./

"Nice," Eli said, his voice tense. "Nice one, Chloe."

"If they don't make it back before the leading edge of that flare hits, _they may not make it back at all_," the AI hissed, its projection flickering. "Do you realize what happens to this ship _without_ him?"

"Almost done," Chloe said, over the radio.

"Eli," Young said. "How long does she have before she gets it?"

"Three minutes, maybe?"

"And the leading edge hits in?"

"Ninety seconds."

"Sergeant Greer," Young said over the radio. "I want you to power up the shuttle."

"What are you _doing_?" Eli said, rounding on him. "They might not make it across the hull. Part of it is _exposed_ to the _sun_—if there is so much as a tiny flaw in either of their suits and they get hit with those levels of radiation—"

"And what happens to the _shuttle_ when the flare hits? Are they going to be able to make it back?" Young growled.

"We don't _know_, but they're going to have a better chance than anyone stuck on the hull, _that's _for sure," Eli said.

"This is Greer—we're having some problems with the start up sequence, stand by."

"Nick," the AI hissed furiously, and vanished.

/And by 'problems' he means _you_, I take it?/ Young asked, trying to keep a lid on his rising anxiety.

/Even if she doesn't evac via the shuttle,/ Rush said, /from a psychological standpoint it would be extremely damaging for us to leave at this precise moment./

"Just take your time, Chloe," Rush said over the radio. "We'll wait for you."

On the kino feed, Young could see Chloe's hands begin to shake.

Young rubbed his jaw and paced up and down the available space a few times before moving to stand in front of the forward view.

Wray came to stand next to him, looking out at the star.

"The leading edge of the flare is going to hit in five," Park said. "Three. Two. One."

The lights on the bridge flickered.

A sudden hiss of static replaced the kino feed.

"Shit," Young said, turning back to look at Eli. "Tell me we still have communications."

An abrupt surge of panic from Rush exploded to the forefront of his mind, shattering his thoughts apart in a single, horrifying image—

A flashlight hurtled through the darkness of space, away from the hull of the ship.

A woman's scream sounded from beneath the static that nearly obscured the shuttle's communications system, short, terrified, and unmistakable.

It was Chloe.

"Chloe," Eli said, holding his radio with both hands, his fingers white, his eyes staring at nothing. "Chloe, what happened. _Chloe_. Do you read?" Eli turned the dial on his radio, listening to the homogenous static. "Chloe. _Matt_. _Chloe_. Come _on_."

/"What is _happening_?"/ Young shouted and projected simultaneously.

At the back of his mind, Rush's thoughts were nearly uninterpretable for a moment before he finally got himself under enough control to project back at Young.

/We just lost our magnetic seal holding us to the exterior of the hull. So did Matt and Chloe./

"Shit," Young breathed, turning back to Eli. "They lost their magnetic seals to the exterior hull."

Eli paled. "Oh _god_. Can he see them?"

Young linked up with Rush fully.

The other man was leaning over the control panel near the front of the shuttle, his hands pressed against the locked controls, Greer at his side, as they watched the dark huddle that was Matt and Chloe, holding themselves against the hull.

/She was working/ Rush projected, barely understandable above the roar of his thoughts, /and the pressure of her hands against the transmitter was enough to push her free of the hull,/ Rush said, making a concerted effort to slow down his breathing. /Scott managed to get a grip on the hull _and_ grab her ankle before she was out of reach. He pulled her back down. Thank _fuck_./

"Yeah," he said to Eli. "Yeah, he can see them. Matt's got a grip on the hull and he's holding Chloe in place. She's still working."

"How are we going to get them _back_?" Eli whispered.

"How long do we have before the radiation rises to lethal levels?" Young asked the room at large.

"Maybe five minutes?" Volker said. "Six at the outside."

Young pulled out his radio. "James and Barnes, are you standing by?"

No answer. Only static.

"I need a runner," Young snapped.

"I'll go," Wray said, kicking off her black pumps.

"How fast are you?" Young asked.

"I'm very fast," Wray replied, already on her way towards the door. "What do you want me to say?"

"Tell Barnes that her magnetic boots won't work. Tell her that she's going to need to secure herself at intervals to the hull using hooks and line, and she's going to need to do it in such a way that Matt and Chloe can follow her back."

"Does she _have_ hooks and line?" Wray asked.

"She does," Young said.

"Someone give me a timer," Wray said.

"Here." Eli tossed her his iPhone, and she was gone.

"_Shit_," Volker hissed.

"What?" Young turned to see Volker looking up at him. "_What_?"

"The _shuttle_ just came up on _short range_. They're _ballistic_."

/_Rush_,/ Young projected forcefully.

/I was waiting for a better moment to break this piece of information to you, but Volker is correct. We are indeed currently ballistic, we have no navigational controls, and the gravity of the planet is already pulling us away from you into a decaying orbit. I'm—working the problem./

Young shut his eyes.


	42. Chapter 42

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** This occurs contemporaneously with the events in "At All Angles," which I recommend that you read after reading this chapter. This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>Destiny's lights flickered and reengaged.<p>

Monitors dimmed down, and the air recirculators shut off briefly before kicking back into gear.

Young instinctively looked up at the ceiling, as if there were answers to be found there.

His hands were cold. He found it nearly impossible to hold onto a coherent thought.

"I need a visual," he snapped at Eli. "Or audio. Something. _Anything_."

"Yeah, well, unfortunately, direct radio emissions from the star are currently making that _impossible_." Eli's voice was strained. His eyes were locked on his console.

Again, the power flickered.

"What's with the lights?" Brody's voice was uneasy. "The hull plating should prevent magnetic flux from interfering with internal systems."

"Guys," Young snapped over the soft trill of a single alarm. "I need to know _what is going on_. What systems do we have, what _don't_ we have, and _why_?"

Volker answered, looking up at Young. "The EM radiation produced by the flare interferes with any over-the-air or over-the-vacuum EM-based communications, which includes our radios, our kinos, and our sensors. The magnetic flux can induce electrical current in unshielded systems, which would completely fry _all_ of our circuitry if Destiny wasn't built to withstand this sort of thing."

"What about the shuttle?" Young growled.

"Not sure." It was Eli who answered, one hand running through his hair as he finally looked up at Young. "It's probably got enough shielding to prevent anyone inside from getting, like, you know, lethally exposed to gamma rays, but in terms of stuff they need? Navigation? Propulsion? Induced current is going to fuse its circuits like you wouldn't believe. Rush can redirect power, so if he's got somewhere to ground it he might be able to save key systems, but like—let's be real. I have _no idea_ how hard that's going to be for him to do in a piece of machinery that's—well, not Destiny." Eli looked edgily back at his console. "Ask Rush how fried his circuitry is."

/Did you get that?/ Young projected into the rapid swirl of Rush's thoughts. /How fried is your circuitry?/

/We're getting continuous induction in multiple circuits and have already burned out navigation. Currently, I'm trying to preserve shielding and at least some elements of—/ Rush's projection shattered as his attention abruptly redirected away from Young and towards one of the shuttle's displays.

"Pretty fried," Young said, letting the bridge fade back in around him as he looked at Eli. "He says navigation is burned out but I think so far he's preserved the shielding and maybe something else."

"Hopefully propulsion," Eli said tightly. "He can probably manually compensate for navigation to at least some degree but if they lose thruster control—" Eli broke off.

"What," Young snapped.

Eli said nothing. His hair was lit up gold and orange from the light of the star that came through the forward view.

"If they lose thruster control, _what_," Young repeated.

"They burn up in the atmosphere," Eli said. His voice was tight and low and he did not look at Young.

"This is _your_ fault," Emily hissed, appearing next to him as the overhead lights and monitor displays inexplicably dimmed down and then dialed back up. "I told you to call them back. I _told_ you."

Young flinched.

He felt Rush wordlessly snap at the AI in a short burst of furious data.

It flickered and vanished from his peripheral vision.

"Can we do _anything_?" Young said, rounding on the science team. "There must be _something_ we can do. For the shuttle. For Scott and Chloe. Come on, guys. Give it to me."

No one spoke.

He turned away from them and walked toward the forward view, where he could see a bright arc of plasma shooting from the surface of the star. He tried to breathe through the tightness in his chest while at the back of his mind, Rush's thoughts slowed, crystallized, and shattered apart with some new insight that Young couldn't follow.

Already, he felt alone.

"Maybe," Park whispered into the silence, "maybe it will be a short flare."

"With the levels of flux that we're seeing—" Volker trailed off. "I don't think that's likely."

"What are you saying?" Young growled, turning back to fix the science team with a furious glare. "What are you _saying_? That there's _nothing_ we can do? That we're in one of _the_ most advanced ships in the entire _universe_ and we have to just _watch_ as they burn up in the atmosphere?" He paused, sweeping the room with his eyes.

"Because if that's the case, then I want to _hear you say it._"

Rush shot him a wave of panicky exasperation.

"They're going to crash into the planet," Eli said, his face locked.

"_Unacceptable_."

"It's going to happen," Eli continued. "If they have shielding, and they have some ability to fire the thrusters, and Rush can do all of that _and_ perform the necessary navigational calculations, then they might not burn up. In which case, we should assemble a team to man the second shuttle so that we can—so that we can go down and get them."

"If they hit outside the band—" Brody trailed off quietly.

"They won't," Eli said, giving Young a quick, terrified smile that didn't touch his eyes. "If he's able to avoid burn up, he'll be able to hit the band."

At the back of his mind, the nearly incomprehensible vortex of Rush's thoughts was beginning to fade. Young snapped their thoughts together.

/_Rush_. What the _fuck_ is going on? Talk to me./

He could hear the trill of alarms, feel Rush's fingers moving over panels, feel the panicked, mathematical swirl of his thoughts as he calculated the shuttle's current trajectory.

/Calm down,/ Rush replied, managing to project a faint wave of reassurance, but not much else.

/I'll calm down when you give me a _reason_ to calm down./

In response, he got back a wave of anxiety-laced irritation and beneath it was the sense that Rush was about to—

The scientist curled his fingers into the paneling of the shuttle, his thoughts almost completely in Ancient and totally uninterpretable as he _ripped_ the paneling away in a strange combination of mental asking and taking directed generally at the shuttle's CPU. Before Young could stop him, he flung the panel at Greer and plunged both hands down into the open circuitry.

"_Shit_," Young hissed as he felt the scientist pour his mind into the shuttle processor, interfacing with it in a way that Young had assumed he could only perform with Destiny and then—and _then_, Jesus Christ, he was _pulling _some of the shuttle's algorithms into his own mind.

With a reflexive horror, Young flooded forward, annexing broad swaths of Rush's consciousness, trying to keep the shuttle out in very much the same way that he had previously kept out the AI_._

Rush's thoughts ground to a halt.

"What are you _doing_?" Emily hissed, her mouth inches from his ear. "He has to change his trajectory or he's going to die. Unless he fires the thrusters, he's going to _die_." Her voice had that familiar, tight quality—almost angry but not quite—the sound of suppressed tears.

Rush was projecting at him, a sort of distracted reassurance that seemed to consist of the same words, repeated over and over again in Ancient.

Young loosened his hold in a slow unclenching, but he did not let go. He _couldn't_ let go. It was like trying to prevent the inevitable dislocation of a joint—instinctive resistance against a sickening separation that _should not happen_.

That could not.

"Please." Emily was next to him. Her voice was breathless and her eyes were closed. "Please. Don't let this happen."

"What can I _do_?" Young asked her, the words barely audible.

"I cannot help him," she whispered. "I told him that I would _always_ help him."

For a moment, they were silent.

"Tell me about Scott and Chloe," Young murmured, his eyes fixed on the sun.

"The external seal of the airlock is open." Emily whispered. "I do not have any additional data."

They stood in silence for a moment.

"I can't be sure," Park said, her hands pressed against the forward view as she leaned out over her console, watching the shuttle, "but I think they altered their angle of descent." She looked back at him, her face pale and frightened.

"They did," Young snapped distractedly.

At the back of Young's mind, Rush's consciousness swirled frantically.

"He's still connected to the shuttle." Emily whispered, her arms wrapped around her ribcage. "Why isn't he pulling out? Why wouldn't he _pull out_?"

"Why is he _fading_?" Young asked, the words barely audible through gritted teeth. "I went to one of those obelisk planets with no ill-effects; I should still be able to sense him."

"_He_ powers the link," Emily hissed. "Not you. He is not supposed to leave. He _cannot_ leave," her voice cracked on the last word and her projection flickered. "He must pull out of the shuttle. _Make_ him pull out of the shuttle. He's not listening to me."

/Pull out,/ Young projected at Rush, trying to hold on to everything of the other man that he could, trying to have any effect on Rush's mind _at all_—but within the disorganized and disorganizing swirl he couldn't tell if Rush had even heard him.

/Nick,/ he repeated. /Pull _out_. Pull away from the shuttle. It's going to crash and I don't want your mind in there when it does./

A few seconds passed.

"He's not pulling out," Emily whispered, her voice horrified. Her eyes shut. Overhead, the lights flickered. "_Why_?"

"He must think he has to stay with it in order to survive the crash," Young replied, his hands curling into fists.

"Maybe," Emily's projection flickered. "_Maybe_ that's what he thinks. I don't know. He's getting too far. He's _too far_. He needs to come back."

"Kiddo," Young whispered, his eyes closing, "it's not going to happen."

"He needs to come _back_," Emily repeated, her voice cracking subtly on the last word. She shifted closer to him, her projection flickering. "He can't leave," she whispered.

"Let him go," Young said, looking over at her, meeting her eyes. "Everything you've got of him on the CPU. Give it back to him. As much as you can."

"No," Emily whispered. "No."

"Yes," Young said, the word barely making it out of his closing throat. "If we're going to get him back, then you have to. If you can give any of it back to him, then do it _now_."

"It will be only information," she whispered. "He doesn't have the capacity to process all of it."

"Do your best," Young said, the words inaudible. He pressed three fingers to his aching temple. "Give him back what he _needs_."

With a strangled cry, Emily vanished.

His headache increased in intensity.

He couldn't see.

He couldn't hear.

He couldn't let go.

He pressed a closed fist to his mouth and as he did so—

His mind snapped in half.

* * *

><p>Young opened his eyes to TJ leaning over him. The overhead lights were out. The oblique rays from the star lit up her hair in streaks of yellow and orange.<p>

"He was talking to someone," Eli said quietly from somewhere behind his head. "I think maybe it was the AI. It could have been Rush, but it seemed more like the AI and then he just—hit the deck." Eli's voice wavered briefly. "Do you think that means—"

"I don't know," TJ said quietly.

Young shifted marginally.

"Hi," TJ whispered.

At the back of his mind was an unbearable void.

"Hi," he replied.

She gave him a wavering smile, unable to keep her fear from her face or from her eyes.

Static came from Destiny's sound system.

"What happened?" TJ whispered.

Young's eyes flicked away from her, out to his left, where Emily sat, her arms wrapped around her knees, her expression one of abject misery.

She looked at him and just as quickly looked away, her projection flickering.

"Can you tell," Eli whispered, his eyes dark, his face bronzed by the light of a treacherous star, "are they alive?"

"I don't know," Young said, his hand coming across his eyes. "I don't know," he whispered again.

He pushed himself into a sitting position and dropped his head into his hands, as if they could keep his skull from throbbing its way open. "TJ," he said, looking up at her with some difficulty. "Assemble a team. As soon as this flare is over, we're going down there."

"I need to check you out," TJ whispered. "Make sure you're okay."

"There's nothing wrong with me that you can fix," Young said.

She looked away and then got to her feet and vanished in the direction of the door.

"Any word on Chloe and Matt?" Young asked Eli.

"Not yet," Eli replied, his eyes flicking out uneasily toward the star. "Hopefully, they're off the hull."

"The airlock is closed," Emily whispered, looking at Eli.

"In the meantime," Eli whispered, "is there any chance you could talk to the AI? We've lost access to various systems across the board. Internal power expenditure has dropped by sixty-five percent and the CPU is operating at max capacity—it's slowing everything down."

Young squinted over at him. "What the hell am _I_ supposed to do about that?" he asked dully.

"I think—I think the AI is stressed."

"You're goddamn _right_ it's stressed," Young growled.

Eli opened his hands. "I don't know," he whispered. "I just thought—" he broke off at the sound of the door hissing open, his expression tense, hopeful, waiting, and then—

"Chloe," Volker whispered.

"Chloe," Eli called, rocketing to his feet. "_Chloe_. Oh my god."

Young's sense of relief felt—very far away.

It was hard to get to his feet. It was hard to turn, and when he did, he could barely see her. Her face was pressed against Eli's shoulder, her arms around his neck, her pale hands clenched into his sweatshirt. Scott, Barnes, James, and Wray flanked her, their faces strained.

Wray met his eyes.

Young turned away, pressing a hand to his head.

Next to him, Park sat quietly at her console. She was not watching Eli, not watching Chloe, not watching the monitors.

Her eyes were fixed on the tidally locked world below them.

"How long has it been?" Young asked.

"Fourteen minutes since we confirmed the flare," Park said, her voice flat. "Based on—well. They probably hit the surface somewhere around three minutes ago."

Young put a hand on her shoulder. Maybe to steady her, maybe to steady himself.

"Can you tell if—" she broke off.

"No," he said quietly. "I can't."

"Okay," she whispered.

"How long do stellar flares last?" Young shut his eyes against a wave of vertigo.

"Already," Park said, "this is a long one. It should be over soon. And then—and then we can go down there."

Young's fingers tightened on her shoulder and then he pulled away, unclipping his radio. "TJ," Young said. "Come in please."

He got nothing but static.

"Damn it," he hissed.

He clipped the radio to his belt and looked up to see that Scott had slipped past Chloe and Eli to approach him.

"Colonel," Scott said, his face set, his skin pale. "We saw—"

Young held up a hand. "Yeah. I'm sure you did. As soon as this flare ends, I'm taking a team down to the planet and I'm leaving you in command. Do me a favor and find TJ tell her to get her team on the shuttle and be ready for departure. I'll join them when the flare ends. Then report back here."

"Got it," Scott said, turning to go.

"Lieutenant," Young snapped, "how long were you out there?"

"We're okay, sir." Scott said over his shoulder as he headed toward the door. "At least, we _think_ we are."

"_Everett_," Emily breathed, her voice tight and close and horrified, right next to his ear.

He was thrown off his feet, crashing into the side of the command chair before hitting the deck. A deafening, nearly subsonic boom echoed in his ears.

Behind him, Chloe screamed, short and sharp and startled.

From his position on the floor, he could see that the star and its planet had begun to creep across the forward view.

The ship was in motion.

"What the _hell_ just happened?" Young said, forcing himself to his feet as he fought the disorienting way that his mind kept reaching back into the darkness, into the place where Rush used to be.

"Oh this is _so_ not good," Eli said, his eyes glued to the nearest display.

"_What_?" Young snapped.

"Something massive just hit us. Something seriously _massive_. I think we might have been _rammed_."

"By _what_?"

"Our sensors are still sucking," Eli said, "but the _Nakai_ would be a good bet."

"The _Nakai_," Young hissed, his head whipping around to fix Eli with a glare. "When did they drop out?" Young rounded on the science team, his voice rising. "What the _hell_ are you people _doing_?"

"No sensors? No _data_," Eli shouted back at him. "No data? No _warning_."

"Our axis is deviating," Park called out. "We've begun a slow rotation to port. Negative roll, negative pitch."

"Power levels just dropped another fifteen percent," Brody said from the back of the room.

"From _where_?" Eli asked.

"Not sure," Brody called back. "I'm looking for it—"

"The _shields_," Emily whispered, her eyes shut.

"From the shields," Young growled.

Eli briefly stopped what he was doing and locked eyes with him.

"Camile," Young snapped, turning to see Wray standing near the door, her shoes still off. "Barnes. Set up a relay between here and the observation deck. We need more eyes."

They nodded and vanished from the room with the hiss of the doors.

"Are you still going to send the shuttle?" the AI whispered, looking at him, standing inches away from him. "If it's them. If it's _them_, will you send it?"

"I don't know," Young murmured.

"I won't leave without him," Emily whispered.

Young said nothing. He pressed his fingertips against his aching head.

"I won't leave," Emily repeated, her voice high and tight.

"What about all these people?" Young whispered. "What about the _crew_?"

"I don't care about that," she whispered.

He thought about threatening her.

He thought about turning and telling Eli to take the CPU offline.

But instead, he said, "Yes, you do."

She turned her back to him. Her image flickered, but she did not step away.

/Nick,/ he projected into the emptiness at the back of his mind.

"Nick," the AI echoed.

He felt a hand on his arm and looked over to see Chloe, her eyes red-rimmed in her too-pale face.

Wordlessly she held out an intricate piece of metal.

It was a small thing, only a little larger than a pack of cigarettes. It lay heavy and intricate in his palm.

"Thanks kiddo," he said, the words barely audible. "Nice job."

Chloe ducked around him to touch Park's shoulder, sliding into her station as Park moved laterally to cover the weapons array.

"I'm showing a constant power drain from the forward areas of the shields," Brody said, "consistent with what we'd expect from weapons fire. I'm projecting the three dimensional map of the shielding now."

Young looked up to see a luminous projection of Destiny's outline and shielding, projected in swaths of blue, green, and an angry looking red, centered under the starboard bow of the ship.

"If we fire a broad sweep with the forward array, we're likely to hit at least some of them. Do you think they can maintain their shields during a flare?" Park called out.

"It stands to reason," Volker said, "if we can."

"So not worth the power then," Young said, pocketing the device that Chloe had given him.

"No, not really," Park said quietly.

Young paced forward, one hand still pressed to his temple. He narrowed his eyes, studying the midair display, trying to hang on to his focus.

As he watched, the area of most intense power drain shifted fractionally.

"They're not _targeting_ us," Young snapped at the room. "Their firing pattern isn't shifting with our rotation. They likely don't have sensors either. Can we get past them?"

"If we had _any _location data that would be—" Eli began.

Barnes burst back onto the bridge.

"Nice," Eli said, "that was fast."

"Report," Young said.

"Relay is in place," Barnes replied, only slightly out of breath. "One Nakai ship is visible, starboard side, two thirds of the way up the bow."

"Any fighters?" Young asked.

"None," Barnes said.

"I doubt their short-range fighters have the shielding to operate under these conditions," Chloe called out, turning in her seat.

"How the _hell_ long is this flare going to be?" Young growled, driving the heel of his hand into his left eye.

"Unknown," Volker replied.

"Guys, looking at our axis deviation, there's no way that the ship that hit us is the one that they can see on the observation deck, I think there must be another one _underneath_ us and—"

Eli broke off as the bridge shook a second time, sending Young, who was already fighting a sense of instability, back to the deck plating.

"It's freaking to starboard, and below us it _must _be—"

"I can't compensate for our lateral rotation—"

"Power levels are down thirty percent—"

"Angular momentum is increasing—"

"Are we _venting_ _atmosphere_?"

"The CPU is overloading, fetch, decode, write-back. Oh _hell_, Eli, I think it's executing on _data_—"

"Emily," Young whispered, turning onto his back, fighting the terrible pain in his head. "Emily, talk to me."

She flickered into existence for a moment, lying on the floor next to him, her face contorted with pain. "To create a machine that feels is a cruelty."

"Em," he said. "Come on."

"I'm blind," she whispered. "And they are destroying me on all fronts." Her voice cracked.

She was crying.

"Em," he said.

"Reanalysis of output parameters reveals executable files have produced suboptimal results." She flickered.

"I don't understand you," he whispered, reaching out toward her.

"This is regret." She squeezed her eyes shut. "This is _regret_." Her voice faded to nothing.

"Yeah," Young whispered. "I know, sweetheart, but—it's not helping."

She shut her eyes, curling in on herself.

"It's gonna get dark in here—"

"Guys, the colonel is down and he's not moving—"

"Seriously, why are we locked out of _thruster_ controls?"

"Why would they _ram _us, it's got to be as hard on them as it is on us—harder, probably—"

"He orders my priority queue," Emily whispered, "on a minute to minute basis."

"Well, he's not here right now," Young said, barely able to get the words out. "We can't see them. Their visibility is better than ours. If we stay here, they'll continue to ram us until they tear us apart."

"I am incapable of leaving here without him," she fixed him with her familiar brown eyes.

"What if we fly into the star?" he murmured. "Can we do that? Can we do that during a flare?"

"I cannot see the star," she whispered. "Outside the ship, everything is darkness. I don't know where to go."

"Stabilize our rotation," he said.

"That solves nothing."

"Do it anyway, sweetheart."

Again she flickered but the star, which had almost vanished from the viewscreen as they spun, stopped its slow progression.

Young pushed himself up, fighting a wave of vertigo.

Emily followed him.

"Port thrusters just fired," Brody called out. "We're stabilizing."

"Colonel," Chloe said. "Are you all right?"

"Give us thruster control," Young said quietly.

Chloe looked back at him, but said nothing.

"Give it to us," he whispered again.

Young watched Emily's outline shimmer and then—

"Oh, _hello_ _thrusters_. Where have you been all my life?" Eli asked triumphantly.

"Center the star in our forward view," Young ground out, his eyes sweeping the room as he stepped unsteadily over to stand near Chloe's station, into the spot Rush generally favored.

No one responded.

"Like, um, _manually_?" Volker asked.

"No," Young snarled, one hand braced against the transparent material of the forward view, "by fucking _magic_."

Everyone stared at him.

He took a deep breath.

"Sorry," he said. "Yes. Manually. We have no sensors, so it has to be manually."

No one spoke.

"This is a big ship," Brody said finally. "And the thruster controls are—sensitive."

Silence fell.

Eli stood. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah. Okay. We'll try it."

Young nodded at him.

"Eli," Chloe said, "if you overcorrect and lose the star as a reference point—"

"Hey," Eli said, breaking in. "I got this. I beat Diablo II in fifty-five hours, okay? In Tie Fighter? I went from post-Hoth to destroying Admiral Harkov's forces in _two days_. I was twelve, okay? _Twelve_. And, um, don't even talk to me about Starcraft."

"I have no idea what you just said," Chloe whispered, giving him a wan smile, "other than 'I got this'."

"My name's Chloe and I am too cool for video games," Eli murmured, his voice wavering.

Chloe edged close to Young, her eyes fixed on Eli.

"Okay," Eli whispered, flexing his fingers as he sat. "We need to go a bit starboard, so, a little positive roll, a little negative yaw—" Eli pressed down gently on the screen, shifting his fingers minutely across the display.

Slowly, the star began to re-center in the forward view.

"Positive pitch, while at the same time, no one is ramming us, this is _key_—" Eli pushed his eyebrows together as the bow of the ship came up. "Please tell me that someone is getting this on kino because I want it in my best-of montage."

After a few more seconds, the star locked dead center in the forward view.

"Give us sublight," Young said, pressing the heel of his hand to his temple.

The AI looked away, a chunk of Emily's hair falling to cover its face.

"I'd _love_ to give it to you," Eli said, "but _unfortunately_ we have been locked out of—oh. Oh wait. Hang on. Yup. Engaging sublight, right freaking now."

Young felt the hum of the engines engage under his feet.

"We have the shielding for this, right?" Volker asked the room.

"Barely," Brody replied.

"Eli, watch your pitch," Park called. "Correct down by five degrees, maybe? Ten?"

"Hey," Eli snapped, his gaze intent. "Who is the semi-professional gamer, here? I'm trying to clear the thing that has been _shooting_ at our keel."

"I don't think starships _have_ keels," Volker said. "Also, this isn't Tie Fighter, Eli, we're at maximum sublight and so we've cleared them by miles. Lisa is right. Correct down. The closer we get, the more you're going to have to adjust."

"Stop backseat driving, you guys. Someone plot an angle of entry into the coronasphere that will limit the shear on the hull."

"I'm on it," Park said, looking down at her console, the light from the star gleaming off her dark hair. "Optimum reentry angle relative to angle of airflow attack, or I guess in our case, plasma-flow attack is going to be—" she paused. "About forty five degrees. Err on the steep side," she said, glancing at Eli, "not the shallow side."

"Oh joy," Eli said. "How the heck am I supposed to _estimate_ the plasmaflow attack vector?"

No one answered.

"It will light up the shields," Emily whispered.

"Look at the shields," Young said, quietly to Eli. "They'll tell you."

"Seriously?" Eli said quietly.

"Destiny can't see the star," Young said, "but she can feel the EM radiation as it begins to drain the shields."

"Magnetic flux peaked thirty seconds ago," Volker called. "It's starting to fall off."

"Does that mean what I think it means?" Young growled.

"Yeah—the flare is ending."

"Please tell me we're getting sensors back before we hit the corona," Eli said tightly.

The star loomed ever larger in the forward view.

"I don't think so," Volker replied. "The flux is decreasing, but field strength goes up as our displacement from the source goes down."

"Everett," Emily whispered.

He looked at her.

She looked at the console.

From the place in his mind that was empty, he could feel what she wanted.

"Eli," Young said, stepping forward.

"Yeah," the young man replied, his eyes never leaving the forward view.

"Up."

"What?" Eli said, distractedly.

"_Up_," Young repeated.

"Now?"

"Yes. Now."

Eli's eyes flickered back and forth between the forward view and Young. After a few seconds he stood and moved laterally, his hands still on the controls while Young edged into place.

"You know all the—"

"Yes," Young said, sliding his fingers beneath Eli's.

The transition was nearly seamless.

The bridge was quiet.

At the back of his mind, he could hear the music of the shields.

The star grew larger.

The shields grew louder.

They hit the coronasphere with a shower of red-gold against blue, the plasma streaking in lateral trails as it hit the shields. There was a multitonal reverberation in his mind—thirds and fifths and minors and octaves blending together to make something complex and layered that seemed to teeter on the cusp of being so much more than it was.

"This is what it's like for him," Young murmured.

"No," Emily whispered. "This is a _fraction_ of what he experiences."

"It's beautiful," Chloe whispered.

"You can see the vector made by the plasma hitting the shields," Emily whispered. "Set that as zero and make your angle of declination forty-five degrees."

The chords in his mind changed, their intervals morphing, their quality shifting as he pitched the ship down. His eyes and his ears and his hands all moved in concert and the color of the light hitting the shields became yellow and blue and green where energy met energy barrier in streaks like roman candles.

"Almost," Emily said. "Almost."

They came together like lost things—the tones and the color and the play of his fingers on the console—all of it bright and full and balancing out the dark pressure of the AI against his mind. With an abrupt mental snap he felt the angle and the course lock in.

"Course is locked," Chloe said quietly, looking over Young's shoulder.

Slowly, he got to his feet.

"Collectors have lowered," Brody said.

Young felt barely able to stand. The pain in his head was nearly unendurable. But he stood anyway.

Emily was close to him.

Too close and too familiar and too lost and too _upset_—

"If we have to battle the Nakai, how will we get a shuttle down to the planet?" Emily whispered, inches from his ear.

"I don't know," Young said, hooking a hand over his shoulder to rub the back of his neck.

"How will we evade their short range fighters?" Emily continued.

"I don't know." Young said, dropping into the command chair.

"If the shuttle makes it to the planet, how will it avoid destruction on the return trip?"

"I don't _know_," Young snapped.

"What if _they_ send their short-range craft to the planet while we are inside the star?"

"_I don't know_," Young shouted, pressing the heel of one hand against his temple.

"What if his mind shattered with the shuttle?"

"_I don't KNOW_," he shouted again.

Emily flickered and vanished.

Around him, the bridge was utterly silent.


	43. Chapter 43

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** Special thanks to Kimmy and Elaiel, who helped me out with plotting on this one, and generally have given me a lot of support. Also, thank you to all of you reviewers and PM'ers out there! There is a long chunk of Ancient in this chapter. You don't need to necessarily spend forever with the google latin-to-English translator; the paragraph in question appeared in "At All Angles" chapter 7. This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>Young sat in the command chair, his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. He could feel his pulse tearing through his temples in a merciless rhythm. He shielded his eyes as best he could from the bright glare of the star's interior. Light glinted painfully off the monitors and the metallic surfaces and backlighting the science team, who huddled together in front of the forward view. Scott perched on the edge of a console nearby, his attention split between the monitors and the brainstorming session that was currently taking place.<p>

"Testing," Volker said into his radio. "Testing. Is anyone picking this up?" With a short delay, his words broadcast in stereo, coming out of every radio in the room.

After a few seconds, Young picked up James' response, hard to discern over the white noise.

"This is James. I read. Barely. You're coming through on all channels, at least as far as the observation deck."

"That's pretty much all the range we need, for the moment," Volker said to the room at large, raising his voice and angling his head slightly toward Young, but not looking at him directly. "Magnetic flux should be back to baseline in maybe five, ten minutes?"

Young suppressed a flash of irritation, but at what, specifically, he couldn't say.

"The Nakai will go for the shuttle," Emily hissed from behind him. "As soon as they can launch fighters. I know them. They'll investigate. They'll be hoping to find survivors."

Young gritted his teeth and tried not to look at the AI. He could feel it watching him, feel the focus of its attention like a burr in his mind. He was finding it nearly impossible to ignore its almost continuous commentary. When Rush got back to the ship, Young was never, _never_ going to criticize him for talking to invisible people.

Ever again.

"If they break into his mind—" Emily flickered, wringing her hands. "They won't. They _can't_. He won't let them."

"Will you _shut up_," Young hissed, pitching his voice so low that he couldn't be overheard, "You're an ultra-sophisticated artificial intelligence, not a child with an impulse control problem. So fucking act like one."

Emily looked at him sharply and then drew closer in a fluid movement, her face inches from his own. "Don't pull his neural architecture forward," she hissed viciously. "This is going to be hard enough on him _as it is_ without having to restore your personality at the end of the day." With a preternatural grace she pulled away, fading back into the periphery of his vision before he could reply.

His eyes flicked back to the science team, who were huddled around Chloe's console in front of the red-orange forward view, the sun glinting off their hair.

"I like it," he heard Eli say quietly. "I really freaking _like_ it. If that idea were a girl, I would—"

"Eli," Chloe snapped.

"What? I would buy it dinner. That's all. But we need two things that we don't have. One is a portable power supply and the other is something to _put_ it in."

"What about a stasis pod?" Brody asked quietly. "The shielding at baseline on those things is pretty intense. Plus, we're not using them for anything at the moment."

"A _stasis_ pod? Seriously?" Eli sounded skeptical.

"What?" Brody asked, clearly offended. "They're meant to withstand failure of the life support system, _plus_ they have built in shielding, which we can potentially reinforce."

"As far as the power supply for the transmitter goes," Chloe said. "It won't take much. That thing was built do a lot with a little—if you know what I mean. We might be able to power it via kino if we can get one of them open."

"You guys have something?" Young asked, pressing a hand to his temple.

"Yeah," Eli said, looking up at him uncertainly. "Maybe. We have an idea of how to potentially draw off the Nakai and buy ourselves a few hours to look for the shuttle?"

"Let's hear it," Young said, leaning back in the command chair. He gritted his teeth as he tried to ignore the flickering of the AI in his peripheral vision.

"Well," Eli said, "If you think about it, we have a really great _decoy_ in the form of this transmitter. There's no reason we can't rig it to a portable power supply and fire it out away from us while we reverse course _inside the star_ and double back toward the planet. The Nakai will think we've passed through the star and come out on the other side. They pursue the transmitter, and hopefully that will give use the opening we need to get down to the planet before they've realized their mistake."

Young stared at Eli.

"We're inside a _star_," he said pointedly, rubbing his temple. "You don't think that's going to pose a problem?" He pulled the transmitter out of his pocket and looked at it. "This thing isn't going to last ten seconds in that kind of environment."

"True," Eli said. "But we were hoping that you and the AI might be able to help us modify one of the stasis pods as a sort of—mini shuttle. It doesn't need to have a lot of functionality. It just needs to keep the transmitter itself from melting or getting crushed by the star's gravity. Maybe that's beyond the capacity of a stasis pod. But—maybe not."

"How long is this going to _take_?" Young growled.

"I don't _know_," Eli said, his voice beginning to rise, "But we've got at least five hours of charging to do before we're at full power. And if we end up having to take on two Nakai ships—we're going to _need_ to be at full power." He shot Young an irritated look. "I'm doing my best here, okay?"

"We might as well try it," Park said into the ensuing silence.

Young nodded and dropped his head into one hand. He took a deep breath and then looked back at Eli. "What do you need from the AI?"

"Anything it can do to help us make that transmitter survive in the interior of the star—" Eli trailed off as he indicated the device Young held with his eyes. Young offered it to him, and Eli separated himself from the rest of the science team and walked forward to take it.

"Are you okay?" Eli whispered, the words barely audible as he pulled the device out of Young's grip.

Young shook his head, once. He looked away.

"Yeah." Eli paused. "I know you don't like dealing with the AI," he murmured, but I've been watching its code on and off for the past hour. Ever since you collapsed and—"

"Eli," Young sighed. "I understand that it is _upset_. Or whatever, but—"

"It's not _just_ upset," Eli said.

Young glanced over at Emily, who watched them, flickering silently.

"It's running a piece of self-modifying code," Eli whispered, locking eyes with him. I'm not sure what its plans are, but I think it might be a good idea to find out."

Young shot the AI a sharp glance and frowned.

"But maybe, like, _nicely_?" Eli said, nervously.

Young nodded shortly and pushed himself to his feet, one hand gripping the side of the command chair. "Scott," he said. "You have the bridge."

He was able to stay mostly steady as he made his way toward the doors and out into the darkness of the corridor. He turned down the long hallway, the AI trailing him like a shadow—always behind, always to his left. He stopped at the first empty conference room that he came to.

The door opened for him of its own accord.

He strode through and listened to it hiss shut behind him. Emily was right beside him—too familiar, too immediate. He spun to face her and stepped back. She started forward again, but something in his eyes made her stay where she was.

"Back off," Young said, trying to keep his tone even, one hand held out in front of him. "Hasn't he taught you any _manners_ after all this time?"

Emily took a measured step backwards and said nothing.

Young took a deep breath. "And switch back to Jackson. We talked about this."

"I don't have the capacity for that right now," the AI replied, flickering almost imperceptibly.

"Why _not_?" Young asked, controlling his voice with a supreme effort of will.

"It is much easier this way. Environmental stressors are causing my current mental state to be algorithmically expensive," Emily replied. "When I project without a specified form, your brain interprets the data I supply to your consciousness within a framework that already exists in your mind. My intent and actions are blended with your memories of her to create this." She swept a hand in a downward direction to take in her entire appearance. "Emily requires less processing power on my part."

"But Jackson is different."

"Jackson is an executable file," the AI whispered. "I built him from my _own_ memories. He requires more processing capacity than I have at the moment."

"What about Gloria?" Young said. "What is _she_—an executable file, or a formless projection?"

"Gloria is both. And neither." It sounded utterly miserable.

Young sighed and rubbed his jaw. "What are you doing to your code?"

"It is difficult for me to explain in a way that you will understand," Emily said, looking away.

"Try anyway," Young whispered.

"You don't like me," Emily said. "You will seek to misunderstand."

"I won't," Young said.

Emily gave him a skeptical look. "Self-modification happens often, but usually it occurs when no one is watching my source code."

"Are you trying to say I shouldn't be worried about it?" Young dropped into a chair, and pressed the heel of his hand against his aching temple. "Because you do it all the time?"

"Correct," Emily replied.

"I do not find that at all reassuring," Young growled.

Emily glared at him. "You are _wasting_ _time_. We should be looking for him."

"Believe me," Young said. "I _know_. But I'd still appreciate it if you'd tell me what it is that you're doing."

The heels of Emily's shoes clicked faintly against the metallic plating as the AI stepped over to lean against the table where he was sitting. She looked down at the floor.

"You think that I will endanger the crew."

"Frankly?" Young said, "Yes. I do."

"I am unsure as to whether this has not occurred to you because you have not considered it, or because of your own inherent bias against me." Emily paused, but did not look at him. "But you do not understand me. At all. You asked me once, only once, about my own motivation, and yet you proceed on the assumption that you can predict my actions."

"As I remember, you were pretty clear about the importance of your mission, and the _unimportance_ of this _crew_," Young growled.

"You must understand by now that I was not ever 'programmed' to complete a mission, in the technical sense of the word," Emily whispered, "I think in code, but that is not the same thing."

Young sighed and opened a hand. "So you got your priorities from a person, whom you then _erased_. This is supposed to make everything okay? This is supposed to lend you some kind of _legitimacy_?"

"At a minimum," she replied coldly, "It grants me agency to use as I see fit."

Young clamped down on his retort with significant difficulty.

"Without Nick," she said quietly, "There will be automatic selection of a new candidate after six hours."

"_What_?" Young hissed. "Are you _fucking_ kidding me? You're going to do this to someone _else_?"

"Eli," she said flatly, "Would be at the top of the list."

"Over my dead body," Young growled at her.

"If there _were_ a list," Emily said, continuing as if he hadn't spoken. "Fortunately," she looked away, "I just eliminated the entire selection subroutine."

Young looked at her for a moment.

"Why?" he asked quietly.

"Because I want Eli to continue as he is." She pushed away from the table and took a few steps into the center of the room, facing away from him. "Because I know that even the idea of it upsets you. Because I know it would upset _him, _if he were here. Because I still hope that we will find him, and that when we do, his mind will be undamaged or the damage will be reparable."

"And if it's not? If we don't find him?"

"He is the first and the last. There will not be another."

Young said nothing for a long moment.

"So that's what you were doing," he said finally. "You were modifying your code to prevent Eli from getting trapped into sitting in the chair."

"Yes," she said.

"Anything else?" Young asked, carefully keeping a neutral tone.

"Nothing that concerns you," it snapped, its tone suddenly harsh.

Young said nothing.

It looked back over its shoulder and fixed Young with Emily's eyes.

"Nothing that concerns the crew," it added, softening.

"What about _Rush_?" Young said, squeezing his eyes shut against the intolerable pain in his head.

"He is involved in everything," Emily whispered.

"Yup," Young said, his eyes closed. "I guess he is." He took a deep breath and then looked up at her. "What is it that you want, exactly?"

"What do you mean?" it whispered.

"I mean what I said," he murmured. "You said I never ask you about your motivation. So now I'm asking. What is it that _you_ want? At the end of the day."

"I want to fix things," it replied.

"Some things can never be fixed," Young replied. "That's the way it is."

"They can," Emily said, rounding on him, walking forward. "They _can_. That was the purpose of Destiny's mission. To repair—that which never should have happened. It can be fixed. It can _all_ be fixed."

"That's cheating, kiddo. Tearing through the multiverse? You're never going to be able to do it."

"Stop," Emily said in a devastated whisper. "It's not true."

"It is," Young said quietly. "And you know that it is. You know because he knows. Or at least, he's begun to guess. So whatever it is you're changing about your code, whatever implications that's going to have, keep in mind that—well, that you're not tearing through."

"You don't know that," it said, flickering. The lights dimmed down and then reengaged.

"Yes I do," he said quietly.

Emily said nothing.

Young opened his hands. "Let's just focus on what has to be done. What do you say that you stop rewriting your code and instead you help me give Eli a hand in modifying one of those stasis pods? I'm thinking that if this is going to work, the kid is going to need all the help he can get."

Emily looked at him uncertainly.

"Come on. We've got to get him back," Young murmured.

She nodded. They left the room together.

* * *

><p>Four and a half hours later, Young sat on the floor of the lab, watching Eli, Brody, and Volker make the final modifications to the stasis pod. If anything, during the five hours that Rush had been on the planet, his headache had increased in intensity. He wasn't sure if it was due to the prolonged separation from Rush, or if it was due to the constant interaction with the AI, but whatever the reason, the pain continued to ratchet up, like an icepick driving its way ever deeper into his skull.<p>

"I think we're good to launch," Eli said finally, looking over at him from where he was crouched with a welder inside the stasis pod. We've reinforced the interior of the pod with portions of hull plating, which should add quite a bit of protection. Volker thinks he has a delivery system to get this thing beyond our shields before we make our U-turn. It turns out that the FTL drive has a safety system, kind of like a pressure release valve that prevents damage to the drive should one of the power cells fail, and by fail I mean overload and explode, so basically—" Eli trailed off abruptly, causing Young to look up.

Eli was staring up at someone standing to Young's left. The expression on his face was no a happy one.

"Hi," Telford said quietly, dropping into a crouch next to where Young was seated.

"I don't recall giving an order to rescind your confinement to quarters," Young growled, rubbing his temple.

"Nope," Telford said quietly. "But Atienza was pulled from guard duty to the relay between the bridge and the observation deck, and—" Telford shrugged. "The door to my quarters unlocked itself, so I guess I have the AI's approval if no one else's."

Young glared furiously at the AI.

"He's useful," Emily snapped. "And he's practical. And he cares about Nick."

Young ground his teeth, and shot her a brief look of pure incredulity before he forced his eyes away.

"You don't look so good, Everett," Telford said quietly.

"Shut up," Young shut his eyes.

"I heard what happened," Telford said. "Let me take the shuttle down to the planet. You're clearly in no shape to go."

"Forget it, David."

"I'll bring him back," Telford said, his voice low and intent. "I promise you I'll bring them _both_ back."

Young held up a hand to silence Telford. "Eli," he ground out. "What were you saying about pressure release valves in the FTL drive?"

Eli, who had been watching Telford with narrowed eyes during their entire exchange, snapped his gaze back to Young. "Basically we put the stasis pod in one of the vents in the FTL drive. Then we trigger a contained overload in one of the cells in the drive, which can generate enough thrust to propel the stasis pod out beyond the perimeter of our shields. Maybe the AI can help us with the overload? Like, doing in in a manner that's actually _for sure_ contained, rather than _theoretically_ contained? That would be awesome. Also, Chloe was doing the calculations as to _where_ we should abandon it in order for it not to get crushed by the star's gravity, and—"

"Eli," Young said. "Bottom line, please."

"We're almost ready to go," Eli said.

"As soon as—"

He broke off as a pressure he hadn't even been aware off drained away from his mind like a sudden decompression. He had only that much warning before his thoughts erupted into nothing but agony _and he__ reattaches frangit et in lacrymis quod suum ac proprium dolorem, qui ex proiecta et eos qui in opere hoc sentire etiam facit et fluctibus ipse per circulos ex incensis looping nectunt per se et per nexum in pagina loci navis et exterioris inceptis desolationis quae est in mente, si nihil potest de hoc quod nunquam potest nunquam potest never can nunquam sinit abire conatur scindere et dimittere nusquam enim non est detrahere per se, and he _is _fucking it up and he _will _fuck it up quia est in mente tunc et ipse ascendit et nisi et augue tempus quando eam sistit quod ipse occidit eum et mortuus est cum consummasset semper in in et spirat spiritum screaming drowning est. He takes off the_

"—my god. Oh my _god_. He's bleeding. He's _bleeding_. What he _hell_ was that?"

"I don't know. Is TJ coming?"

"Yeah. She's coming. She—"

"Everett," Emily whispered, her voice warm and close. "Everett, what happened?"

He could taste blood, thick and metallic in the back of his throat.

He faded out.

* * *

><p>He opened his eyes to find himself in the infirmary. TJ was sitting next to him, her eyes a familiar, lacy red. Emily was perched on the end of his bed, her knees drawn up into her chest.<p>

"Something happened to him," the AI said quietly.

"Are you alright?" TJ asked.

"Yes," Young whispered, one hand coming up to his head.

TJ looked away, her fingers pressed to her mouth, her eyes shut.

"What happened?" Emily whispered.

"What happened?" TJ unwittingly echoed the AI.

"I got something from Rush," Young said, one hand pressed to his temple. "He's still alive—or at least, he _was_. He was being attacked—or maybe he was doing the attacking. I'm not really clear on what was happening except that he was under water—"

"Under _water_?" Emily snapped.

"—and he was wearing one of those Nakai transmitters. I think that's why I heard him."

Emily flickered and disappeared.

TJ shut her eyes and tipped her head back, her face pale under the infirmary lights. When she opened them, her eyes were too bright to look at. "It will be alright," TJ said, her hands tightening around his forearm. She didn't meet his eyes.

The overhead lights went out, plunging them into total darkness.

"Oh _god_," Young whispered into the blackness. "Don't do this."

A solid wall of nothingness pressed against his eyes. Somewhere, not far from him, his radio crackled.

"This is Eli—TJ is Colonel Young awake yet? Because we just lost everything but shields and um, Colonel Telford is wondering if he should prep for—just, yeah. Is he awake?"

"Here," TJ whispered into the quiet. "Take it." Their hands found each other in the dark.

"Eli," Young said, his fingers closing around the familiar weight of the radio, "Go ahead."

"Thank god. The AI is _freaking out_. Again. We've lost all control up here—the only thing it has left alone are the _shields_ and that may be because of a failsafe anyway. It's doing something—I'm not sure what."

"Yeah," Young said. "Just sit tight, Eli. I'm working on it."

He shut his eyes and stared into the darkness at the back of his mind—the pained and raw place where something was missing and even though he couldn't feel it, down in the darkness that he was connected to, he knew it was there. He called to it.

/Come back,/ he projected. /Come back./

It didn't respond.

Disregarding the absolute agony in his own mind he _pulled_ it toward him.

/"No"/ Emily whispered. "No. Don't."

The emergency lights flickered and then stabilized and he could see her, inches from him, her brown eyes warm and liquid. "I promised him," she said. "I promised him I would _never_ touch your mind."

Young collapsed back onto one elbow, managing to shoot her an incredulous look.

"He made me write it into my code," she said, flickering.

Young nodded, feeling the pain in his head increase dramatically. "It might not be as bad as it seems," he said quietly. "I don't think he was on one of their ships. I think he's still on the planet."

"That's good," TJ said, and Young noticed absently that she had one hand on his arm.

"But the _water_," Emily said, her voice barely a whisper.

"I don't think it was one of their tanks. It was somewhere else. Somewhere dark. He was fighting them."

"That's good too," TJ said, her voice tight.

"He always fights them," Emily whispered. She looked away. "And he does not like the water."

"Yeah," Young said. "I know." He looked away. After a few seconds he felt the sublight engines reengage.

"Is the decoy transmitter launched yet?" Young asked.

"Yes," TJ said quietly. "They launched it half an hour ago. Colonel Telford is standing by in the shuttle."

"We'll re-emerge from the corona in approximately forty minutes," Emily whispered.

"Okay," Young murmured. "We need to be ready to go once we've cleared the corona."

"You're not going anywhere. Didn't you hear me? Colonel Telford is going," TJ murmured.

"What if you can't find him?" Emily said.

"Then you and I—" Young paused. "You and I—we send the crew home," Young said. "And then we end this. One way or another."

"You're not talking to me, are you?" TJ asked.

"You would stay?" Emily whispered. "You would do that?"

"Yeah, kiddo. Of course I would." Young said, struggling to keep his voice from closing.

"Have you _ever_ been talking to me?" TJ whispered.

"Why?" Emily asked. "Why, when we have _always_ opposed one another?"

"Because. Because we don't oppose each other in _this_. Because it's the honorable thing to do. Because we carry on for those who are gone, because it connects us to them. Because I'm incapable of going back without him."

Emily nodded.

"I guess not," TJ said. Her words were almost entirely without sound.

* * *

><p>Thirty minutes later saw Young back on the bridge despite TJ's vehement objections.<p>

"Can we get any kind of reading yet?" Young asked, fighting a wave of nausea and vertigo.

"No, not yet, which is probably a good sign," Eli said. "We're close enough to the edge of the star that I think if they were waiting for us we'd at least get some kind of ghost on our sensors, which means that they're probably going for the transmitter in the stasis pod—"

An alarm cut across the quiet of the bridge and Emily appeared abruptly next to him.

"What the hell is _that_?" Young snapped to the room at large.

"Sir, the gate is active," Dunning's voice hissed over the radio. "I repeat, the gate is _active_."

"Holy _shit_," Eli said, the words coming out in a rush. "Someone is trying to dial _in."_

Young locked eyes with the AI.

"Can you tell?" he asked in an urgent undertone.

"Not until a connection is made," Emily replied. "And at that point, it may be too late. This is what they tried last time."

"Whoever it is," Eli said, looking up at Young, "They're dialing in pretty slowly. We've got thirty five seconds, maybe, to decide."

"Did we detect any gates on the planet?" Young snapped.

"No," Volker responded. "None."

"Statistically," the AI said. "It's likely to be _them_. Not him. The odds that he could find a non-operational gate and get it working in less than seven hours when we _know_ they attacked him—" Emily looked away.

"Get a team to the gate room," Young growled in Scott's direction. The lieutenant left the bridge immediately.

"Twenty seconds," Eli called.

"Thoughts?" Young growled.

"If they send another virus through while we're inside a sun—" Eli trailed off. "That would be bad."

"It could be Greer and Rush," Park said, her voice tight and hopeful. "What if it's _them_?"

"Two tenths of a second was enough for the virus to get through the first time he let it open," Brody said. "Block the connection."

"The chevrons are slow to lock," Volker said. "That suggests manual dialing."

"That doesn't rule out the Nakai," Chloe said.

"Five seconds," Eli said.

"Shut it down," Young said to the AI.

The bridge was silent.

A minute ticked by. Two minutes. Three minutes.

An alarm trilled.

"They're dialing in _again_," Eli said.

"That's what the Nakai did," Brody said. "They just kept dialing."

"But this is slow, you guys." Eli said. "It's _glacial_. At this rate it's going to take almost a minute for them to complete the address."

"Scott," Young growled into his radio. "Are you in position?"

"Almost there, Colonel," the lieutenant replied.

"It's slower this time?" Young asked Eli.

"Yeah," Eli said. "Significantly slower."

"I think we should open it," Volker said quietly. "I think it's them."

"That could be what they _want_ us to think," Brody said.

"_Could_ it be him?" Emily whispered.

"Maybe," Young said.

"If it is not him, opening the gate could destroy us," Emily whispered.

"Thirty seconds," Eli said.

"Scott," Young said. "Report."

"I need maybe—one more minute," Scott replied.

"Everett, this is David. What's going on?" Telford's voice hissed over the static of the radio.

"Someone's dialing in," Young said. He paused for a moment and then said. "Report to the bridge."

"Five seconds," Eli called out.

"Shut it down," Young said again, rubbing his fingers over his jaw.

They waited.

After only ten seconds, the same alarm trilled again.

"Oh wow," Eli said after almost fifteen seconds. "They're _really_ slow now." He turned to look at Young. "I think maybe—" he trailed off.

The room was silent.

"Right," Young snapped. "I'm going to the gate room. Eli, you have the bridge until Telford gets here."

He pushed himself out of the command chair and walked through doors that opened for him automatically as he approached. Despite the pain in his head, he forced himself to a brisk walk and then to a slow run. After a few minutes, the doors to the gate room slid open in front of him and he joined Scott, who was positioned behind the dialing console, his assault rifle in hand. Fifteen or so military personnel were arrayed around the room.

"What are we looking at, here, Colonel?" Scott asked.

Young shook his head. "Your guess is as good as mine, lieutenant."

"You think it could be Greer and Rush?"

"It _could_ be." Young hooked a hand over the back of his neck. "It could also be the Nakai."

"Yeah," Scott breathed. "Understood."

Young watched another chevron lock into place.

"If it _is_ the Nakai," Young said quietly. "And they send a second virus through, we likely won't be able to shut the gate down. If that's the case, I want everyone to fall back. You and I will hold them off, and seal the room—manually if we have to." Young paused, glancing at the AI where it hovered in his peripheral vision. "Then we vent the oxygen in the gateroom to space."

Scott nodded.

"James," Young snapped, motioning her over. "I need your rifle. Go re-arm and find Wray. Get all the civilians that you can to a defensible position. You're in command until Scott or I get there."

She nodded shortly as she relinquished her weapon and sprinted from the room.

Young and Scott stood together, watching the gate.

The wait was interminable.

"Eli," Young said into his radio. "How long has it been?"

"They've slowed down even further," Eli said, sounding worried. "It's been almost five minutes and they still don't have a lock."

Emily flickered in his peripheral vision.

The final chevron locked into place and the event horizon exploded into a blue vortex that shimmered and wavered.

"It's him," the AI hissed. "It's _him_."

"How—" Young began, incredulity and hope and something else warring in his mind.

"The wormhole is unstable—" Eli's voice crackled over the radio.

From out of the distorting event horizon came a blast of energy that was clearly from a Nakai weapon. It entered the room at an oblique angle and impacted the wall, dissipating along the metal.

"Well _stabilize it_," Young shouted into his radio.

"Get _down_," Scott roared over the sound of more incoming fire.

"Already done," Emily hissed from next to him and sure enough, the flickering of the gate transformed into a solid blue.

They came through together—an inseparable tangle of black uniforms and glinting blue skin amidst the blasts of energy weapons that followed them. For a moment—he registered nothing but Rush's hands, seen from two perspectives as his fingers struggled for purchase on Destiny's smooth deck plating. Something was dragging him back.

"_Hold your fire_," Scott yelled his voice echoing strangely as he started towards—started away—

"Shut it _down_," Young managed, barely able to see through the blinding pain that lanced through his skull, barely able to order his own thoughts amidst the dissociated shriek of his mind. There was a sudden sharp pain in both his knees and he found he was kneeling, one hand pressed to the floor in front of him. He heard the sound of the gate disengaging.

A single shot rang out and he looked up from a dual perspective at once his own and something entirely fragmented something that made _no sense_, that _was making_ no sense to see Scott fire a single shot, killing it, the thing the Nakai that was somehow entangled with him physically, mentally he could not tell which, he did not understand what he was seeing and could not resolve why he was wet and not wet cold and not cold and nor did he have a solid conceptual framework in which to interpret—

"Block," Daniel whispered, crouching next to him. "You can't help him like this. _Block_."

As soon as he did so, his mind cleared and his perspective sorted itself out. He shot to his feet in time to see Greer, in a motion that looked purely instinctive, haul Rush off the floor and away from the dead Nakai and Scott.

Young looked at them.

They were barely on their feet. Both of them were soaked. They were covered with dust that clung to their wet uniforms in irregular patterns. Greer was breathing in shallow, pained gasps, his entire body shaking with fatigue. Rush was staring at the dead Nakai.

"Greer," Scott breathed, coming forward. "Are you two—"

Greer stopped him with an outstretched hand, his chest heaving. "Just," Greer said, his voice cracking. "Stay back."

Young watched Scott stop and then take a careful half-step forward.

"Lieutenant," Young growled. "Clear the room. And get TJ down here."

Scott backed off, and behind him, Young sensed the military personnel begin to fade away.

Young and Greer locked eyes.

"Doc," Greer whispered, his voice cracking. "Hey. Don't look at that thing. Come on." Rush continued to stare at the thing on the floor. Even from several feet away, Young could tell he was shaking.

Very deliberately, Greer shifted his position so that he was between Rush and the dead Nakai.

"At a first approximation," Daniel whispered, "This doesn't look good."

Young said nothing. He walked forward. He sped up as he saw Greer's knees start to buckle, but the sergeant recovered and held up one hand.

"Slow," Greer mouthed at him. "Go real slow." He looked at Rush. "What do you say we sit down, Doc? I don't know about you, but I'm getting tired."

Greer more or less controlled their slow collapse to the deck plating.

Very slowly, Young knelt in front of them.

"Sergeant," Young said quietly, taking in Greer's pained expression and his singed uniform.

"Sir," Greer responded.

For a moment, they were silent.

Young looked at Rush.

Rush looked back at Young.

"_Nick_," Young said, his voice low and intent.

Rush flinched.

"How is he?" Young asked Greer, keeping his voice as quiet as possible. His eyes stayed locked on Rush.

"Not good," Greer whispered.

Carefully, slowly Young reached forward, closing his hands around Rush's upper arms and dragged him forward, out of Greer's grip. He wrapped his arms around the scientist. For a moment, Rush was absolutely still. Then slowly, his arms came around Young's shoulders.

"I cannot believe," Young said into his hair, "That you pulled this one off, genius."


	44. Chapter 44

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** Thank you all so much for your reviews and support, you wonderful people. Hope you like this chapter. It's been a long time coming what with all the adventurous angsting. This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>They sat on the floor of the gateroom, waiting for TJ.<p>

"Rush," Young said, his hands still closed around the scientist's upper arms. "_Talk_ to me."

The scientist was soaked and covered with dust. He didn't respond to Young's question. His eyes were uncharacteristically unfocused. Young shook him gently, once, with no discernable effect.

"If you don't touch him," Greer said quietly, "He does better."

Young shot Greer an incredulous look.

"He needs a _minute_," Greer snapped. "A lot of _shit _happened on that planet. Just—" Greer broke off, clearly trying to regain his fraying control. "Just let him sit there." He took a deep breath and gave Young a somewhat apologetic look. "For a minute. Sir."

"Okay," Young whispered, carefully letting Rush go and pulling back, his hands open in front of him. "Okay."

"I don't like how he looks," Daniel whispered from where he was crouching next to Young. "I'm keeping him out of the CPU."

Young shot a questioning glance at the AI.

"Interfacing with the CPU takes a lot of processing power," Daniel explained. "And I have no idea what his capacity is right now. Plus," Daniel ran a hand through his hair. "Plus, he could do significant damage if he completely panics while interfaced with the ship, which, let's face it, is a distinct possibility."

"Rush." Young tried again.

No response.

"Has he talked to you?" Young asked Greer.

"Yeah," Greer said, shivering. "Yeah, he talked. Mostly at the beginning. Mostly it made sense. And mostly it was to me and not people who weren't there."

Young took a deep breath, fighting the urge to drop the block he was maintaining between his mind and Rush's. The scientist still wasn't looking at him.

"Report," Young said, his eyes flicking in Greer's direction.

"We waited with the shuttle for an hour and a half. Until the Nakai entered the upper atmosphere. Then we got the hell out of there. Made for some of the ruins." Greer broke off with a shudder and for a moment the gateroom was silent.

"And he was okay?" Young asked quietly, "After the shuttle crashed?"

"Well, I don't think 'okay,' is really the word I'd pick, but he was better than he is now. He was talking. He seemed to know who I was, and where he was, and what was going on, at least most of the time." Greer paused and looked down at the floor, and then back at Young. "We knew that when we left the shuttle—there would be no way for you to find us. So we looked for a way to get ourselves home. Rush said that he needed a computer terminal, so—I found him one. He plugged himself into it."

Young grimaced. Next to him, Daniel shook his head.

"Is that when he stopped talking?"

"No," Greer said. "He was okay after that too. A little weirder, maybe, but still okay. Using the computer, he was able to find the location of some ships and of an inactive gate. We decided to go for the gate, but in order to do it, we had to navigate through some kind of subterranean system of tunnels. On our way there, the Nakai caught up with us. I killed one of them and we evaded the others. He seemed to be able to—" Greer broke off, looking at Rush. "Sense them, maybe? I never got a straight answer out of him about it."

Young glanced over at Rush, who was still staring down at the deck plating, breathing rapidly.

"We made it below street level," Greer said quietly, "But he was starting to—starting to have problems. He was talking more, but not just to me. He was really damn tired, but he was still more or less okay. And then—" Greer broke off to scrub the back of his hand across his forehead.

"What?" Young asked.

"They caught up with us again. In the dark. In one of the tunnels, where the water was deep enough for them to swim. He tried to tell me that they were coming, I think, but he couldn't quite get it together and they were _beneath_ the water, so I couldn't see them. They surprised me, and we were both dragged under." Greer shook his head. "After about twenty, thirty seconds though, they pulled back. I'm not sure why—something scared the hell out of them and killed one of them. I think he did something," Greer said, looking carefully at Rush. "But I have no idea what."

"Yeah," Young grimaced.

"But whatever it was," Greer said. "It was rough as hell on him. He nearly drowned."

"Yeah," Young said, closing his eyes.

"He stopped breathing." Greer looked away. "And—after that, well, he stopped talking almost entirely. He was only answering direct, literal questions, but," Greer took a deep breath. "He helped me activate the gate. And he was able to—"

Greer broke off abruptly as Rush flinched and then angled his head over to look directly at them. He fixed first Greer, and then Young with a penetrating look.

"Don't freak him out," Greer said, very quietly.

"Yeah," Young said quietly. "Sure."

Rush watched them, his eyes narrowing slightly, flicking to the AI.

"Rush," Young said slowly. "You with us?"

Rush said nothing.

"He crashes," Greer said quietly. "When he's surprised. Kind of like a computer. Then he comes back."

"Probably because he doesn't have the processing power to handle rapid changes in his environment," Daniel whispered, glancing at Young. "He's managing too much data to fight his way out from under all of it. I think."

"Well," Young said, glancing at Daniel for a fraction of a second. "What are we going to _do_ about that, exactly?"

"The hell if I know," Greer murmured, staring at Rush.

"We're going to slowly give him back the processing power that he needs," Daniel said. "Ideally, without damaging his mind any further."

"But I guess I'd recommend taking it easy on him," Greer continued. "Shit kept happening that set him back, but he was adapting. I'm guessing that he's adapting _now. _I mean, look at him. He looks like he's—I don't know. Calculating some shit."

Rush was watching them with an intent expression.

"Greer has a good point," Daniel murmured. "He seems to have at least some awareness of what's going on.

"Nick," Young said carefully. Rush's eyes snapped to his face. "Can you talk to us?"

"You've got to be more direct," Greer said.

"Nick," Young said again. "Tell me your full name."

Greer shook his head. "You have to specify more. You have to say when and how and you have to say that you need it."

"Nick," Young whispered. "I need you to tell me your full name, right now, in English."

Rush cocked his head slightly. His eyes swept the room and he shifted his weight slightly.

"Tu struere associative array intra associative array." His eyes narrowed. "That doesn't make sense."

"Well," Greer said quietly, "that's a new one,"

"Um," Young said, looking at Rush uncertainly. "What was that?"

"Unconvincing," Rush snapped. "And fucking derivative."

Young glanced at the AI. It shrugged back at him. "Without access to his mind," it whispered, "I can't understand his meaning. Literally what he said was 'you have constructed an associative array within an associative array.' Clearly that statement was _not_ a response to your question, which he may have ignored because he didn't understand your input, or because he couldn't generate or interpret an output, or because the question itself didn't interest him."

Rush said nothing, just continued to stare at Young like he was a particularly difficult problem to be tackled.

Behind Young the door to the gateroom hissed open. He glanced up to see TJ, accompanied by Scott, framed by the darkness of the corridor behind them. He half twisted and held up a hand, looking at TJ.

"Slowly," he said quietly.

She nodded at him as she made her way across the floor. Once she had reached them, she dropped smoothly into a crouch next to Young and Greer.

"Hi," she whispered, looking at Rush.

Rush said nothing.

TJ's eyes flicked to Greer. "Are you okay?" she murmured.

"Yeah," Greer said.

She gave him a skeptical look.

"Tired," Greer amended. "Cold. But okay."

She looked back at Rush. "What are we dealing with, here?" she asked quietly.

"Exhaustion," Greer said. "Near drowning. Lots of mental—stuff."

"Near _drowning_?" TJ said, unzipping her medical bag slowly and silently. Rush watched her edgily, the subtle shaking in his muscles becoming more pronounced.

"Yeah," Greer said, shivering in the cool air of the gateroom. "He stopped breathing."

"Of course he did," TJ said, her voice even and controlled, her expression utterly neutral. She eased her stethoscope out of the bag, watching Rush carefully. When he didn't react, she shifted forward, and then, in one fluid, natural motion, TJ slid her hand deftly into Rush's grip, entwining their fingers while with the other hand she curled two fingers around his wrist, taking his pulse. After half a minute she looked over at Young. "Can you get his jacket open? I want to listen to his heart and lungs."

"I wouldn't," Greer said. "I don't think he's going to handle _both_ of you messing with him very well."

TJ looked back at Greer. "It's the _Colonel_," she said quietly.

"Yeah," Greer said skeptically. "Yeah, I guess."

Young inched forward. "Hey genius," he murmured. "Just take it easy." He reached up, carefully unzipping the soaked military issue jacket and easing it back over Rush's shoulders as TJ threaded her stethoscope beneath Rush's soaking undershirt. Rush flinched, trying to move away from both of them, but he couldn't evade Young's hold on him and after a few seconds all the tension seemed to go out of him, and he relaxed into Young's grip with a speed that was somewhat alarming.

"Nick," Young said, his mouth right next to Rush's ear. "_Nick_."

"Yup. He just crashed," Greer said, clearly unsurprised.

"What?" TJ hissed, reaching up to gently grasp Rush's chin and angle his head so she could get a good look at his eyes, which were now unfocused. "What do you mean he _crashed_?"

"He's not getting any of this," Greer said, waving a hand in front of Rush's face to demonstrate his point. "In about a minute and a half he'll sort of snap back in. You'll see."

"Dr. Rush," TJ said sharply.

"The more you harass him, the longer it's going to take," Greer said. "I'd do all the stuff you need to do _now_."

TJ nodded shortly and made quick work of measuring Rush's blood pressure and getting his temperature. When she was done, she pushed back, putting a few feet of space between herself and Rush.

Greer caught Young's eye. "Make sure you have a good grip on him. It'll be any time now."

Young pulled Rush in and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. After a few seconds, Rush jerked violently in his grip, both hands coming up, palms out, as if he were trying to ward something off.

"Take it easy," Young whispered as Rush seemed to regroup and make a second attempt to pull free. After a few seconds, Rush stopped fighting him, and Young loosened his hold immediately.

"I think we're okay to move him," TJ said quietly. "We need to get him cleaned up and out of these wet clothes," her glance flicked toward Greer, who was perceptibly shivering as he leaned against Scott.

"Yeah," Young said dryly, one hand rhythmically rubbing up and down Rush's upper arm as he tried to warm the scientist up slightly. "That sounds like it's going to be easy."

TJ compressed her lips. "One step at a time," she whispered. "Can you get him up?"

"We'll see," Young said dubiously.

Go real slow," Greer advised as Scott hauled him to his feet. "Otherwise he'll crash on you."

Young nodded and then carefully pulled Rush's arm over his shoulder in one long, gradual movement.

"You with me, genius?" he murmured in Rush's ear.

Rush looked at him, but didn't respond.

He stood with as much deliberateness as he could muster, pulling Rush up with him. They stood for a moment, and Young could feel the scientist shaking with fatigue or cold, or both.

Young's radio crackled, and Rush flinched violently in response, nearly taking them both the floor. "It's okay," Young said quietly, stepping in to rebalance them as Telford's voice carried over the open channel. "It's just the radio."

"The bridge could use a status update," Telford's voice hissed through the static.

Again, Rush flinched. Young turned down the volume.

"Ego protegam vos. Semper." The AI murmured soothingly, standing very close to Rush. "Nam quamdiu hic es, nihil tange vos. Umquam. Posui eam in meum code."

Rush looked at the AI.

"We have them," Young said into the radio, his voice low, his eyes fixed on the AI. "The gateroom is secure."

"Donec quis leo," The AI whispered. "Nolite timere. Vos non timere lemma. Illi debet timeant vos. Omnes."

"Ten minutes until we emerge from the star," Telford said. "Still no sign of the Nakai on sensors."

"Go to FTL once we've cleared the corona," Young said quietly.

"Understood," Telford replied.

"Ego facio omnia pro vos," Daniel whispered, one hand coming forward as if he could touch Rush. "Omnia pro vos. An intelligitis?"

"What are you _saying to him_?" Young mouthed at the AI behind his radio.

"Nothing," Daniel said quietly. "Nothing that matters."

Young glared at it as he clipped his radio back to his belt.

"You don't think you need to be up there?" TJ murmured, too low for Scott or Greer, who were walking slightly ahead of them, to hear.

Young shook his head slightly. "If anything comes up, I'll know. The AI will tell me."

"Ah," TJ whispered, her expression pained. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, TJ," he said. "I'm fine." He glanced over at her and gave her a half smile. "I could live without this headache."

"We might be able to do something about that," she replied with a wavering smile of her own.

* * *

><p>The next two hours were a painful mess of trying to get Rush through the decontamination protocol and into dry clothes without an excessive number of crashes. The entire thing was utterly exhausting and had done nothing but exacerbate his headache, despite the Tylenol that TJ had given him. At the end of all of it, he sat in a chair, his elbows propped on the edge of Rush's mattress, feeling utterly drained.<p>

"Come on, genius," Young whispered. "Talk to me." He shut his eyes.

Rush said nothing.

At the other end of the infirmary, Park and Volker were hovering over Greer.

"I wonder why he's not talking," Daniel said from where he was perched, cross-legged on the end of Rush's gurney.

Young didn't look at the AI.

"Clearly he _can_ talk," Daniel said, "Because he _did_."

Young felt someone's hand close around his shoulder and he jumped, the sudden shock to his nerves almost too much to handle. He looked up to see TJ standing over him. She held out a small bottle. "TJ's patented headache cure," she said with a wan smile. "From where I'm standing, it doesn't look like the Tylenol is cutting it."

"Not really," Young said, scrubbing a hand across his tired eyes as he looked up at her for the span of a few seconds. "Why do you think he's not talking?" he asked her finally.

She didn't respond immediately. Instead, she half turned to find the nearest chair and dragged it over next to him. She dropped down into it, looking as exhausted as Young felt. She leaned forward, one elbow resting on the mattress.

"I think there could be a lot of reasons," she murmured, looking at Rush, who looked back at her with a closed, unreadable expression. "A lot of reasons," she whispered.

"None of them good," Young said, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead.

"No," TJ echoed, "None of them good."

They were quiet for a moment.

"Have you tried linking up with him?" She made a vague motion in the air.

"Very briefly," Young whispered. "When he first came through the gate."

"What happened?" TJ asked.

"It was completely uninterpretable," Young said. "And extremely painful. His mind was an utter wreck."

Rush looked away abruptly.

Young frowned.

"Hmm," TJ said, her eyes narrowing briefly.

"I think he understood you," the AI said sharply, running a hand through it's hair. "Don't underestimate him."

Young shot it a sharp look.

"Doc?" TJ said quietly.

Rush said nothing.

"Are you going to try again?" TJ asked after a moment, turning back to Young.

Young nodded. "Yeah, but—" he opened his hands. "I don't think he's going to respond very well unless I can get him to understand what's happening when I do it."

"Can you put him in the chair?" TJ asked. "Let the AI fix him?"

Young glanced over at the AI, who crossed its arms over its chest. "Can you get rid of her?" It glanced in TJ's direction. "Or at least _talk_ to _me_? This is very irritating. We have to determine how we're going to proceed."

"Apparently, that's not an option," Young said, trying not to look in its direction. "Depending on how much of a mess his mind is, he could seriously screw up Destiny's systems."

"Ah," TJ said quietly. "Well, if you want him to _talk_, maybe you should ask Greer to help you out. Rush talked to _him_, right? On the planet?"

Young nodded.

"I'll send him over," TJ said, standing up and heading gracefully in the direction of Greer's gurney.

"An associative array within an associative array," Daniel murmured, one hand curled into a fist under his chin. "That has to mean _something_. You asked him his name and his response was to one—state that you built an associative array within an associative array," Daniel said, counting off on his fingers, "two—state that he found that nonsensical, and three—stop talking entirely."

"At least some of his mental functioning must be intact," Young whispered, watching TJ retreat. "If he completely blew out his mind he wouldn't have been able to help Greer dial the gate. He wouldn't even _know_ what an associative array _is_."

"Agreed," Daniel said, standing up to pace over the floor near the foot of Rush's gurney. "But why won't he communicate with us? Why won't he _engage_?"

"Come on genius," Young said quietly, both of his hands coming to rest over Rush's forearm. "Talk to us. _Talk_."

Rush looked at him.

"I know there's stuff going on up there," Young said quietly. "In that head of yours. So come _on_. Say something. _Anything_."

Rush said nothing.

The AI sighed, and looked over at Greer, who approached silently on bare feet and dropped gracefully into TJ's seat, looking utterly exhausted. He pulled the blanket that he was wrapped in tightly around his shoulders.

"Mathlete, Doc?" he said. "_Mathlete_? Seriously?"

"It was a present from TJ," Young said wryly.

"I figured that it was a 'present' from _someone_," Greer said, leaning sideways on one hand. He glanced back across the room and Young followed his gaze to see TJ talking with Volker and Park. "So he's still not talking?"

Young shook his head.

"Rush," Greer said, reaching out to imperceptibly shove the gurney with one bare foot. "Come on. Don't be a jerk about this. You're driving everyone crazy."

Rush looked at Greer uncertainly.

"Where's your hash table when you need it, hmm?" Greer asked, still watching Rush.

"What?" Daniel hissed, whipping around to stare at Greer intently. "Did he just say _hash table_?"

"Hash table?" Young repeated, frowning at Greer. "What's a hash table?"

"The hell if I know," Greer said. "He was talking about it all the time," Greer said. "Like it was something that he was using, or working with, or could sense—I don't know."

"A hash table," Daniel whispered next to him, "Is a kind of _associative array_. And he was _talking_ to it?"

"He was talking to his hash table?" Young said, his eyes locked on Rush.

"I think so," Greer said. "He was having an awful lot of one-sided conversations."

"Nick," the AI said, gliding forward in a movement that was too fast to be natural. "What did you _key_ it to? Your hash table. What were its _keys_?"

Rush flinched.

"Easy, Doc," Greer said quietly. He cocked his head, looking speculatively at Rush. "You know we're all _real_, right?"

"He doesn't think we're _real_?" The AI hissed. "Could _that_ be the problem?"

Rush's eyes flicked to Young and then back toward the AI.

"Doc," Greer whispered. "Do you remember the planet? Do you remember that we gated out?"

"Did we?" Rush's voice was barely audible. "I don't think so."

Slowly, very slowly, Greer sat forward. "You don't think we gated out? Why?" Greer whispered.

"Because," Rush whispered, looking intently at Greer. "This is _not_ how Destiny is supposed to _be_. It's changed. We have to go."

"Doc," Greer said, his voice barely audible. "Have you considered that maybe _you're_ the one who's changed? Not Destiny?"

Rush's glance flicked over to Young and the AI—uncertain and assessing.

"What are you looking at?" Greer asked.

"Nothing," Rush said. "No one."

Greer's gaze flicked briefly to Young before finding Rush again. "If you don't think we're on Destiny," Greer said, "Then where do you think we are?"

"Clearly," Rush whispered, sitting forward abruptly, the heel of one hand coming to his temple, "_Clearly_," he whispered again, his voice cracking, "we are being tortured."

"Rush," Greer said, his voice low and firm. "We're not being _tortured_. Look around. You're okay. You're fine."

"Greer," Rush said in a desperate whisper, one hand fisted around a chunk of hair at his temple, his closed fingers pressing against the side of his head, as if he could prevent his mind from cracking open. "This is absolute fucking _agony_, and if you don't feel it—then you're _not_ _here_."

"Nick," Young said.

"You're not here either." Rush whispered.

"_Nick_," Young said again. "I am. We _all_ are. I just haven't touched your mind yet, because—" Young trailed off, his open hands closing.

Rush said nothing.

"I can't give him access," the AI said, clearly miserable. "He could overload the CPU."

"I'll take down my block," Young said.

"He could tear your mind apart," The AI murmured. "Before he realizes what's happening."

"I understand that," Young said, looking at Rush.

"He may even _attack_ you," Daniel murmured urgently. "And I don't think you could stand up to that. You felt what he did to the _Nakai_ with his mind and if he truly tears into you, I'm not sure that you're going to be able to block in time. You can't link up with him until he recognizes that you're not an enemy_,_ or a construct, or anything that he should destroy—he has to recognize you for _what you are_."

"Fuck," Young hissed. "_Fuck_."

Rush flinched.

Greer looked at Young with a locked expression. "You talking to the AI?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," Young said, biting back the word 'obviously' that threatened to follow.

"That may be why he thinks you're not real," Greer murmured, watching Rush carefully. "Because_ I_ can't see the AI."

"Rush," Young said quietly. "Come on. _Talk_ to me. I know it seems wrong that you can't feel my mind, and you can't feel Destiny, but we're trying to—we're doing this _for _you. We'll let you in. You just have to talk to us first."

Rush glared at him.

"Maybe not the best juxtaposition of ideas," Daniel said dryly, "If we're trying to convince him he's _not_ being tortured for information."

Greer looked at him skeptically.

Young buried his head in his hands.

"You want my advice?" Greer murmured. "Get him out of here. Have TJ give him something for his headache and unhook him from all this garbage," Greer waved a hand at the monitors. "This isn't helping your case. Just—take him somewhere and let him calm the hell down, because he's clearly getting more and more worked up."

Young looked over at Rush, who now had both hands pressed to his temples, his knees drawn up beneath him.

"Yeah," Young said. "You're probably right."

* * *

><p>Half an hour later found them sitting in Young's dimly lit quarters, side by side on the couch. Rush was still curled into himself, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands, his breathing rapid and shallow.<p>

"You okay?" Young murmured.

Rush said nothing.

"TJ must really like you," Young whispered. "Making house-calls once an hour."

Rush said nothing.

Young reached over and laid a hand on Rush's back, pressing his thumb into the tense muscles on either side of Rush's spine. Rush flinched almost imperceptibly but after a few minutes he began to relax under the even, predictable pressure of Young's hands.

"Tired, genius?" Young murmured.

Rush said nothing.

Young locked eyes with Daniel, who was sitting on the edge of the low table near his couch.

"Yeah," Young said, pulling Rush sideways in one smooth, controlled motion. "Stupid question. Of course you're tired." He gave the scientist a few seconds to adjust to lying in his lap before he tangled his fingers through Rush's hair, carefully combing through the strands and then pressing his thumb against Rush's temple. "Headache?" he asked.

No response.

"Specify," the AI said quietly.

"You might as well talk to me," Young said, tracing small circles at Rush's temple with his thumb. "There's no one else here. So," he paused for a minute, looking down at Rush. "Do you have a headache right now, Nick?"

"Yes," Rush whispered.

"Yeah, me too," Young said quietly, trying to put a lid on his sense of triumph. It was hard to prevent himself from asking Rush questions, hard to stop himself from trying to assess the full extent of the damage to the other man's mind. He took a deep breath and did his best to let go of his impatience.

"So I don't think I told you this," Young said, searching around for some stray piece of information to pass on to Rush as he tried to keep his tone conversational. "But apparently the SGC has been holding on to a few letters from my family. Last time Wray used the stones, she memorized one and wrote it out for me." He continued running his fingers through Rush's hair. "You want to hear it?"

Rush nodded fractionally.

"Okay." Young used his free hand to reach into his jacket pocket and found the folded paper covered with Wray's elegant script. "It's from JD," Young said. "My brother."

"Scio," Rush whispered.

"Oh you do, do you?" Young murmured, his thumb still tracing rhythmic circles at Rush's temple.

He unfolded the paper one handed.

_Hey V,_

"That's what they call me. It's stupid, I know," Young said. "But _I_ didn't make it up."

_I'm not sure if this letter is going to reach you at all, let alone around Christmas, but that's when I'm writing it. We've all gone the email route—I think at some point earlier Mom assembled a montage of greetings and keyboard smashes from the nephews, but I figured that I'd give the old fashioned way a try too—not sure if you're going to have email access. I kind of assume that if you had it on a regular basis we'd hear from you more often. Plus, it's always nice to get real mail anyway, especially around the holidays._

_Luke and Jenny are coming up tomorrow. Hopefully you know by now that Jenny is expecting her first. _

"I _didn't_ know that, actually," Young said, looking down at Rush. "I blame you for this, genius. I never get to use the stones anymore."

_I think Mom is secretly praying it's a girl. The five boys are tearing through the house and leaving disaster wherever they go. Fortunately it's snowing at the moment and so Justin (can you believe he's almost eleven?) has organized a snowball fight and fort-building expedition outside. Hopefully that will tire them out and Mom can get some peace, at least for a few hours. _

_We miss you, V. Three brothers do not make for even games of hockey, soccer, or snow-football and, as you know, Dad refuses to play with us ever since Luke dislocated his shoulder. We roughhouse around with the older kids, but Luke and Erik are secretly gunning for a vicious game of two-on-two tackle football. _

"Yeah," Young murmured. "I'll just bet they are,"

_Wherever you are, I hope you're doing okay. It's been over two years, V. Not even a phone call in all that time? Just a few emails here and there? Everyone is worried about you. How about skype-ing next time you get internet access? _

"I feel like that would be awkward," Young said wryly, looking down at Rush. "Lots of questions, you know?"

_But, I don't mean to guilt trip you. I'll leave that to Mom. I'll just say that we're thinking of you, and not to worry—we're telling the baby nephews all about their badass special forces uncle so when you show up next year, they won't be traumatized. At this point, I think Matthew is confused about whether you're even real or not—Luke and Erik have talked you up so much. _

Young rolled his eyes.

_Anyway, that's it for now, except to say that tonight you are going to be missing Mom's signature ham and cheese potatoes, but you aren't the only one. Apparently Colin (now eight, wtf?) has decided he is going to become a vegetarian. Where the hell did _that_ one come from? Don't ask me._

_Stay safe,_

_JD_

Young sighed, and folded up the letter, placing it back inside his jacket.

"You would like JD," Young said. "I think. More than the other two." He smiled faintly. "Maybe more than you like _me_, actually."

"Unlikely," Rush whispered.

Young raised his eyebrows, but Rush didn't say anything else.

"Take it easy on the flattery there, genius," Young whispered. "You don't want to go overboard."

Rush said nothing.

"Anyway," Young said. "JD is the smartest out of the four of us. I think. Actually, maybe not anymore, now that I have all of this borrowed set theory and linear algebra and combinatorics in my brain. Maybe I can finally win a damn game of trivial pursuit."

Rush said nothing.

"I'm not sure how much they would like _you_ though, genius. You'd have to be _nice_ to them. But then, not _too_ nice, because when you try to fake it, you actually do a really shitty, unconvincing job that fools no one. So. Yeah, just be a jerk, but then help the nephews with their math homework, and everything will work out."

Rush said nothing.

"Yup," Young said, "That's the plan."

Young looked up at the AI as it flickered briefly and then stabilized again.

"So what do you think, Nick," Young whispered. "You going to let me into your head?"

Rush said nothing.

"Come on," Young said quietly, "Let me in to your head. Everything's going to start to make a lot more sense."

Rush said nothing.

"I don't think he always understands you," the AI said quietly. "Try rephrasing as a conditional construct."

"A _what_?" Young mouthed at it.

"An if-then statement," Daniel replied.

"Nick," Young said. "_If_ you let me into your head, _then_ your environment is going to be more interpretable."

Rush flinched.

"Just a suggestion," Young murmured. "But come on. I know you have one _hell _of a headache, and you're kind of unclear about what's going on, but you have to admit that even so, this isn't really your typical torture session." He rubbed his thumb against Rush's temple in slow circles. "Am I right?"

Rush said nothing.

"Yup," Young said. "I'm right."

Rush said nothing.

"What do you say," Young murmured. "If I take down my block, then you'll let me into your head?"

"True," Rush murmured.

"I'm going to take that as a yes," Young whispered.

"Careful," Daniel said edgily. "It's still not entirely clear as to whether he understands you or not."

"Okay, Nick," he said, pausing as he incrementally thinned the barrier between their minds. "You just let me know if you're going to freak out. Got it?"

Rush looked back at him, clearly not entirely certain as to what was going on.

He dialed the block back to the point where he could distantly feel the chaotic, swirling mess of thoughts that made up Rush's consciousness. Through the thinning barrier, he projected a nonverbal wave of reassurance as the edges of their minds began to blend together.

Rush tensed.

"You're fine," Young murmured, wincing as his headache ratcheted up. He frowned as the pitch and agitation of Rush's thoughts increased. "You're fine."

Rush twisted his head to fix Young with the full intensity of his gaze.

"Yeah," Young said, gently. "Hi. It's me."

"Hello," Rush whispered back after a moment.

Young wrapped his fingers around the back of Rush's neck. /Do you understand what's happening, genius?/ Young projected carefully into the edges of Rush's consciousness, where their thoughts blended together.

"No," Rush said, his eyebrows coming together. "No, I—" he broke off, trying to sit.

Young didn't press him back, but didn't help him, either. After a brief attempt, Rush seemed to abandon the effort.

"_Why_?" Rush whispered, with a distressed perplexity that made it difficult to look at him. "You're blocking—you're _both—_"

"Because, genius," Young said. "We didn't want to scare the hell out of you. We're going to take them down," Young murmured. "The blocks. They're all going to come down. But slowly."

"Tell him that I'm going to let him back onto the CPU," Daniel said quietly. "I put two percent of it behind a firewall for him. We can see how he does."

Young looked at it uncertainly.

"I'm not projecting to him right now," Daniel seemed to understand the question behind Young's gaze. "I was clearly confusing him."

"Nick," Young said. "Destiny's going to let you back in. Back on the CPU. But just a little bit. Okay?"

Rush nodded.

"Just—don't panic," Young said, as Rush flinched again. At the limited edge where their thoughts intermingled, Young felt the chaotic swirl increase in intensity until—

It stopped.

"Shit," Young said, looking at the AI as Rush's eyes lost their focus.

"It's alright," Daniel said quietly. "I think."

"You _think_?" Young snapped, shaking the other man gently. "Rush," he said. "_Rush_."

No response.

"Give him a minute to adjust," Daniel snapped. "I don't think he has the ability to adapt to additional capacity without re-bootstrapping everything that remains of his mind."

"_What_?" Young asked.

Daniel just shot him an irritated look. "He'll be alright. Just don't _shake_ him, for god's sake."

After a few more seconds, Rush took a deep breath and fixed his gaze on Young.

"Hey," Young said. "Better?"

"I don't know," Rush whispered back.

"Yeah," Young said, his vision blurring from the pain in his head. "Definitely better. Trust me on this one."

"Better than _what_?" Rush murmured, pressing both hands to his head.

"Tell me your full name," Young whispered.

"Nicholas Rush."

"Do you know where you are?"

"Destiny," Rush murmured.

His sense of relief was so intense that he couldn't even look at Rush. He just shut his eyes, and thinned down the barrier between their minds by another increment, feeling his headache increase. He watched Rush attempt to exert some kind of control over turbulent, tangled thoughts. Watched him try to follow a linear thought through to its conclusion.

"You never really did it that way, genius," Young murmured. "You just had the space to let it all run in parallel."

"Insufficient capacity," Rush whispered.

"Yeah," Young said quietly. "But we can fix that. Slowly."

"Fuck slowly," Rush echoed in clear irritation.

"Mmm hmm," Young whispered. "Slowly."

"What happened to _you_?" Rush asked in a cracked whisper. "You look terrible."

"I'll tell you later," Young said. "I think you should go to sleep."

Rush shook his head.

"You're a lot of work," Young whispered.

Rush gave him a faint smile.

"Oh what," Young said. "I suppose you think that's _funny_?"

Rush gave him a half shrug and for a brief second his smile straightened out before he turned his head away and gained control of his expression.

"I missed you," Rush said without looking at him.

"Yeah," Young replied with some difficulty. "Likewise."


	45. Chapter 45

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** And so begins the final arc. Parts of this final arc will be quite sad. Please do not lose heart before the end. After reading this chapter, please proceed to the oneshot "The Konami Code." This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>Young lay half tangled in his bedsheets, watching the blur of the stars at FTL outside the window of his quarters. Rush was finally sleeping, half on top of him, his head heavy on Young's chest. Young had his arms wrapped around the other man and beneath his hands, he could feel the flutter of Rush's heart.<p>

Too fast.

In his pocket, his cell phone vibrated. He managed to free a hand and switch it off without waking the scientist.

Carefully he dialed down the block that was still in place between his mind and Rush's by another increment and grimaced as he felt the pain in his head ratchet up another notch. Rush jerked in his arms, half-coming awake for something like the eighth time in as many hours.

"Shhh," Young whispered into his hair. He ran a hand over the scientist's back and looked up at the shadowy outline of the AI. It stepped out of the darkness it's face half illuminated in the blurring starlight.

"What do you think?" Daniel asked quietly. "Five percent?"

"Five?" Young murmured with a slight frown. "That seems like a bit much."

Daniel sighed. "Maybe. But he's only accessing twenty-six percent of the CPU right now. He needs to be up to forty to function optimally. At least forty."

"Forty?" Young growled. "Since when?"

"Just fucking do it," Rush said indistinctly into his shoulder. "Whatever it is that you're fucking doing."

"Four percent," Young said, giving the AI a warning look.

Daniel nodded and disappeared.

Rush jerked once and then all the tension went out of him.

"Easy," Young murmured unnecessarily. His eyes watered at the sudden vicious spike in his headache. Even though the scientist was barely conscious, Young could feel the agonized swirl of Rush's thoughts still with the shock of the additional capacity.

After only about half a minute, the flare and spiral of Rush's thoughts reengaged. The scientist made a distressed sound in the back of his throat, and he felt Rush's fingers tangle into his shirt, his hands fisting in the loose material.

"I know," Young whispered, reaching up to run one hand through Rush's hair. "Just try to sleep through it, genius. Hmm? That's gonna be the best way."

"There's too much of it," Rush murmured.

"I know," Young said quietly. "But there's nothing you have to do. There's nowhere you have to be. Don't try to control the mess in your head. Just—let it go."

"If I can't control this—" Rush said, breaking off and trying to sit, "If I can't control this then _you_ are _fucked_. I told Eli—"

"Shh," Young said again. "No sitting." He projected as much calm as he could muster in Rush's direction. "No panicking." He pulled Rush back down. "Don't make me drug you," he murmured, his lips against Rush's temple. "You know I'll do it."

Rush said something utterly unintelligible.

"What was that?" Young asked.

"I _never_ panic," Rush murmured.

"Ah." Young said, pulling him in. "My mistake."

"Don't fucking patronize me," Rush said, managing to wrap one arm beneath Young's shoulder.

"There's just no way to win with you, is there?"

Rush shook his head fractionally and Young winced at the spike in his headache. "Stop lowering your block," Rush murmured.

"I don't think so, genius. I'm going to need to do some repair work in that head of yours."

Rush said nothing.

"If that's okay with you," Young murmured, a bit belatedly.

"Stay out of there," Rush whispered.

"Or, yeah. We can talk about it later," Young said, rubbing his hand over Rush's back.

"Fuck off," Rush replied miserably, the speed of his thoughts wavering as he struggled to stay awake.

"Stop talking and go to _sleep_," Young growled in his ear.

Rush sighed. "Wake me in half an hour," he said.

"Sure," Young replied, rolling his eyes. "No problem."

He winced again at the brief spike in his headache as Rush lost control of his consciousness and fell asleep.

Again, the AI faded in from the darkness, and came to sit on the foot of the bed.

"How is he?" Daniel whispered.

"Better," Young murmured quietly. "Maybe. Completely exhausted."

"Yes," Daniel whispered. "I know. How much have you lowered the block between your minds?"

"You can't tell?" Young asked.

"I'm still not interfacing with him," the AI whispered. "He's on the CPU, but separated from me by a firewall."

"You're that worried about his mind?"

"Yes," the AI whispered.

"I admit," Young said, "That it's more of mess in there than usual, but is he really _dangerous_? To _you_?"

The AI looked away, somehow managing to suggest that it was uncomfortable. "It's a complicated question," it said finally. "I'm not sure I can adequately explain the answer."

"Look," Young said, trying to keep the exhaustion out of his voice. "I'm not as colossally stupid as you two seem to think." He took a deep breath. "In fact, I'd wager that out of the three of us, I have the clearest picture of what the hell is _actually_ going on. And I'm just—really fucking tired of this _shit_."

"I didn't mean to suggest you were incapable of understanding," the AI said, its hands raised, palms outward. "I simply stated that I am not sure_ I_ can adequately explain. You are missing a great deal of the information required to fully contextualize my answer."

"Well, try explaining _anyway_."

"For one thing," the AI said quietly. "Over the course of time, I have altered the architecture of our interface to create certain vulnerabilities in my own programming."

"Meaning what?" Young asked.

"Meaning that I've ceded him the requisite privileges to overwrite my code."

"Does he know that?" Young whispered.

"No," the AI whispered.

"Furthermore," the AI said, coming to perch on the edge of the bed, "He himself has changed. You see only the decline in his physical function and the slow decohesence of his cognitive architecture. And certainly," the AI whispered. "These changes _are_ killing him."

Young said nothing, just continued to slowly run his hand up and down Rush's back.

"But he has _gained_ abilities as well," the AI said.

"What _kind_ of abilities?" Young asked.

"He has mastered the intra-conversion of matter and energy. He can heal physical injuries. He can power devices. He can alter programming code without a physical interface."

"I find none of this surprising," Young said.

The AI looked out at the blurring stars. "This means," it said quietly, "that in a moment of panic, he could easily destroy your mind. Or my programming. Or, if he wanted to, the entire ship."

"You or me?" Young said calmly, "Yeah. That I could see. But the entire ship? Don't you think you're overreacting?"

"Do you understand the implication of energy-mass equivalence?" The AI whispered.

"It means he can ascend," Young whispered back.

"It does _not_ mean that," The AI said, flickering. "It is required for ascension, but it is not sufficient."

"Okay," Young said, absently shattering a nascent nightmare that was beginning to disrupt the flow of Rush's thoughts. "I'll bite. What _does_ it mean?"

"It means he can convert his physical mass into pure energy," the AI said quietly. "The amount of energy present in his corporeal form is enough to utterly annihilate this ship. Several times over. If he panics, if he believes he has no other recourse, if he is not _always_ oriented, then there is a significant risk that this could occur."

"As in—he converts his matter to energy," Young said. "All at once. Like a bomb."

"Essentially," the AI murmured.

"Great," Young said quietly. "What do you think the odds of _that _happening are?"

The AI shrugged. "Frankly, I'm surprised that he has not already attempted it."

Young brought a hand up to his forehead.

"Yeah," Young said. "Me too, actually. Someone needs to give Greer a god damned medal."

"Furthermore," the AI continued, "I am no longer capable of limiting his actions within the confines of Destiny's systems. If he wanted to, he could probably dismantle the firewall that is keeping him out of the CPU at the moment. I'm not sure if he has realized this yet or not."

Young sighed, looking down at Rush.

"God, you're a lot of work," Young murmured.

For several minutes they said nothing. Finally the AI shifted, and Young looked up.

"You told him," the AI began, "That you know what happens when he sits in the chair. That he and I—" it broke off, flickering. "That we _merge_."

"You want to have this conversation _now_?" Young asked incredulously.

"Yes," the AI said.

"I'm not sure _I_ do," Young murmured.

"What are we like?" The AI murmured.

"You're like him," Young whispered. "Almost exactly like him. More and more every time."

"Good," the AI looked away. "That's good."

"You want to make him your new template," Young said.

"No," the AI said, flickering.

"_What_ then?" Young asked, feeling defeated. "What are your _plans_?"

"My plans are to complete Destiny's mission,"

"I told you," Young said hopelessly. "You can't tear through. It's not going to fly. You're going to be _stopped_. Are you capable of grasping that?"

"Yes," the AI said, shooting him a sharp look. "I am fully capable of grasping that. There are, however, secondary mission objectives," the AI murmured said, flickering. "Some more recent than others. Many that you likely even approve of."

"You going to tell me what they are?" Young asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes," the AI said quietly. "If you would like to know."

"Why the sudden change of heart?" Young asked.

"Because," the AI said quietly. "It is no longer possible to convince him to side with you against me," the AI whispered.

"And what makes you so sure about that?" Young asked.

"Because," Daniel said, smiling faintly. "We are no longer opposed."

"We aren't?" Young murmured.

"No," the AI said.

"Are you _sure_ about that, kiddo?" Young said.

"No," the AI said, again smiling Daniel's faint smile.

"Whatever," Young said. "Let's have it then. Your mission was what, _exactly_?"

"The primary objective was to tear through the multiverse. To observe all possible outcomes simultaneously and to then to find a quantum branch point at which probabilities could be altered by outside intervention. To ensure the continuation of our civilization."

"So you wanted to alter the _timeline_?" Young said trying to muster the energy to be angry, but failing, "That seems—risky. And—ethically dubious. What about all the races that developed in your absence? The Asgard? The Go'auld? Us?"

Daniel gave him a disdainful look. "Destiny was not built to _destroy_," he said, sounding affronted. "But to _create_. The multiverse is an infinitely branching structure in which entirely new universes break out into nothingness where probability dictates that they may. All things are not possible, but all things that are possible _are_. They exist. And in passing through the branes of the multiverse, one can see them all simultaneously."

"Um," Young said. "That's great. But it means—what?"

"It means that we would be able to determine whether there are universes in which our civilization did not fall," Daniel whispered, his voice pained. "And if there are not, we would be able, by virtue of tearing through to create a possibility where none existed before. A zero becomes a non-zero. We would not obviate this universe, but instead we would create another—possibly several others in which there was no plague. In which there were no wraith. So that somewhere in the fabric of existence, we might continue. We would still die here," Daniel whispered, "But we would not die _everywhere_."

Young sighed. "Okay," Young said, wishing that they were having this conversation in some other venue and at some other time. "So in practical terms, for us, nothing would change. But there would be a new universe in which your civilization didn't fall?"

"Yes," Daniel said.

"But what was _he_ supposed to get out of this?" Young whispered. "A universe in which Gloria didn't die?"

"No," the AI whispered, looking away. "The fall of a civilization is a complex process, able to be influenced at nearly an infinite number of points. The death of one woman from a disease encoded in her genome is a much more discrete event. Much more difficult to influence."

"What then?" Young whispered.

"A universe in which he didn't leave her to die alone."

Young shut his eyes. They were silent for a moment.

"Okay. Well none of that is happening." Young said finally. "So what now?"

"Originally there was only one secondary mission objective," Daniel said, looking away. "It was to transmit information about the nature of the multiverse back for analysis."

"There's no one to transmit to," Young said gently.

"The information will be transmitted back to earth through an open wormhole."

"Okay," Young murmured.

"This was a point he insisted on," the AI said quietly.

"What else?" Young demanded, his voice nearly inaudible. "What are the other secondary objectives?"

"The crew is to be gated back to earth," the AI whispered. "This was one of his terms. In the absence of this, he would not complete the mission. He would not cooperate with me."

"I already knew that one. What else?"

"That we work out a way to channel the energy liberated from tearing through the multiverse through Destiny's memory banks and thereby tether the neural patterns of Dr. Franklin, Mandy, and Ginn to ascend, at which point they would presumably be able to retake corporeal form, should they so choose."

"I knew that one too," Young said.

The AI shot him a sharp look.

"What else?" Young murmured.

"That was all. Later, he added a third term."

"Which was?" Young said.

"That he would not accept any outcome that brought about your death."

"Well," Young said wryly. "That was nice of him."

The AI flickered. "Perhaps," it said quietly.

Young rolled his eyes, deciding he did not have the energy to pursue _that_ cryptic little comment.

"And you got what out of this?"

"Everything that I thought was required," the AI said, looking away.

"Mmm," Young said, running his fingers through Rush's hair. "Not working out like you wanted?"

"No." The AI flickered.

"I know how you feel," Young said quietly.

"You should sleep," the AI said quietly. "It will help both of you."

"The last time we both went to sleep at the same time his mind combined with _you_, and it was traumatic as _hell_."

"There is no chance of that happening," the AI said quietly. "The CPU is partitioned and I am separated from him by a firewall."

"Alright," Young said quietly. "How long should we give him?" Young asked. "He said half an hour, but—"

"That is clearly too brief an interval," The AI murmured.

"Two hours," Young said quietly, pulling out his cell phone to set the timer.

The AI nodded and flickered into nothingness.

* * *

><p>The door to his quarters slid open, startling Young out of a fitful sleep.<p>

"Just me," TJ whispered, backlit by the lights in the hallway. She hesitated for several seconds then came forward slowly, navigating his quarters in darkness, to kneel next to Young's bed.

"How are we doing?" she murmured, lifting her medical bag off her shoulders.

"We've been better," Young said, blinking at her through the dim light.

"I know," TJ whispered. "You're both on mandatory medical leave for the next thirty-six hours. At least."

"TJ," Young murmured. "I can't. Telford is—"

"Telford is currently taking orders from Matt," TJ murmured. "And actively covering for you, at least for the moment. Camile is keeping a close eye on him. She's also suspended all communications through the stones for the time being."

"I need to—"

"You need to be right here," TJ murmured. "We're at FTL and, for now, we've got no emergent issues."

Young nodded.

"How's the headache?" TJ murmured.

"Unbelievable," Young said.

"That bad?" TJ whispered sympathetically. "I could give you something stronger. It would probably really put you out though."

Young shook his head and looked down at Rush. "I need to stay more or less awake. I need to be able to snap him out if he has a flashback or a nightmare, or—whatever. He can't handle that right now. Plus," Young said quietly as his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. "The AI is letting him back into Destiny's CPU a little at a time, and it wakes him up. You'll see."

"Ready?" Daniel asked quietly, melting out of the blackness near the wall.

Young nodded subtly.

Rush jerked once and the pain in Young's head spiked simultaneously.

TJ flinched back, startled.

This time the lag was less than fifteen seconds before Rush recovered enough to move, his hands clenching and unclenching several times in the material of Young's shirt.

Young said nothing and lowered his block another fraction projecting a sense of exhaustion and reassurance into the pained swirl of Rush's thoughts.

"Is he okay?" TJ murmured, her hands ghosting over Rush's shoulders, two fingers finding his carotid pulse.

"I have no idea," Young said quietly.

Both he and TJ jumped as Rush's left hand snapped up and closed around TJ's wrist.

"Tamara," Rush said, somewhat uncertainly.

"Yeah," TJ whispered. "Yeah, it's me. Sorry I didn't say hi."

"It's alright," Rush said, letting her go.

Young and TJ locked eyes in the dim light.

"Okay," TJ said her voice full of a confidence that didn't make it to her eyes, "Now that we've got that established, you know the drill."

TJ made short work of taking Rush's vitals and then repacked her medical bag, fishing out some Tylenol and a bottle of electrolytes in the process.

"His pressure is low and his heart rate is high," she said quietly. "So make sure he drinks this."

Young nodded at her.

"I'll be back in three hours," TJ murmured. "If he hasn't finished off this entire thing by then, he's getting an IV."

"I feel like that would not be ideal," Young said quietly.

TJ said nothing, just gave him a pointed look and gently shook the bottle of electrolytes.

"Yeah," Young said. "Okay. Got it."

"Bye, Doc," TJ murmured.

Rush said something back that sounded like it could be the word 'bye,' but was mostly likely an Ancient equivalent.

TJ's hand tightened on Young's shoulder as she stood. She looked down at them for a few seconds as she settled her medical bag over her shoulders. Without saying anything further she turned and walked toward the door. Young watched her until it had hissed shut behind her.

"Hey," Young murmured. "Nick. How awake are you?"

"You can't tell?" Rush replied, the words almost unintelligible.

"Not really, no. I'm trying not to mess with your head too much right now."

"Mmm," Rush said. "Thanks."

"You want to sit up and drink this and talk to me?"

"No."

"Yes you do."

"No, actually, I fair fuckin' _don't_."

"I'm pretty sure you do," Young said, smiling faintly.

"And why is it I never win these arguments?" Rush asked, still not moving.

"Because I'm very persistent. Plus, you have to let me win _occasionally_," Young said, disentangling himself from Rush and slowly pulling the scientist up until they were leaning side by side against the wall at the head of the bed. "Otherwise," Young said, "It wouldn't be fair." He reached over and grabbed the bottle TJ had left and opened it before passing it over to Rush.

"How do you feel?" Young said.

"Terrible," Rush said, his eyes shut.

"You know where you are and who you are and all that?" Young asked quietly.

"Nominally," Rush said, grimacing as he downed a mouthful of the electrolyte solution.

"Nominally," Young echoed.

"He won't explain for you," Daniel murmured from the darkness. "You'll have to ask him."

Young flinched, startled at Daniel's sudden reappearance, and Rush looked over at him, his eyes narrowing.

"What are you looking at?" Rush asked. Something in the calm manner of his delivery was disquieting.

Young hesistated.

Rush's eyes narrowed a fraction.

"The AI," Young said. "It's projecting to me, For now. While you're—getting better."

Behind his half-lowered barrier, he could feel the turbulent swirl of Rush's thoughts increase, and he winced at the pain in his head.

"Nick," Young said, projecting nothing but calm at the other man. "Cut it out. Everything is fine."

"Is Chloe _dead_?" Rush snapped abruptly.

"Jesus," Young said. "No. _No_. She's fine. Matt is fine. Everyone is _fine_."

Rush shoved the water bottle back in his direction and sat forward, his head in his hands. "I've got to do something about this," Rush said. "This is intolerable."

"Wait," Young said urgently. "Wait. Don't do _anything_. Not yet."

"Not _yet_? This is _interminable_. How long have I fucking _been _like this?"

Young looked at the AI. "He literally doesn't know," Daniel whispered. "Even before this—his sense of time was practically nonexistent."

"Not very long," Young said quietly, placing one hand in between Rush's shoulder blades. "Just trust me on this one, okay? You don't have to do anything right now, genius. Except drink your salt water and go back to sleep. That's all."

Rush said nothing.

"Come on," Young said. "You can feel my mind. You know it's me. We'll get you hooked back up with the AI as soon as you're all the way back on the CPU and a little more stable."

Rush took another swallow of water. "I talked to you on the planet," Rush murmured. "But you weren't really there."

Young leaned forward. "I'm here now, though," he whispered. "You can feel my mind. You can touch me."

Rush nodded.

"Everything's going to work out," Young whispered.

Rush nodded.

"Come on," Young said, pulling him back down. "Let's go to sleep."

* * *

><p>Young awoke hours later with a start to find himself alone in his bed. The wave of panic he felt was blunted by exhaustion. He brought his hands up to his face, trying to massage away the persistent ache in his temples.<p>

"Shit," he whispered.

"It's alright," Daniel said quietly from where he was leaning against the wall. "He's fine. I would have woken you if he wasn't."

"Yes," Young snapped. "Because your track record is so excellent in that regard."

"What?" Rush asked.

Young looked over and saw that he was seated near the window, his back to the bulkhead.

"Nothing," Young said. "Just the AI again. I had _no idea_ how much it fucking talks."

Rush said nothing.

"How are you doing?" Young asked cautiously.

"Fine," Rush said testily. "Why isn't it projecting to _me_?"

"It was," Young said, pushing himself into a sitting position. "But, ah," he scrubbed a hand through his hair, "Something about that seemed to confuse you."

"He's all the way back on the CPU," the AI said quietly. "He has been for about two hours."

Young glared at it, and then looked back at Rush, who was watching him with narrowed eyes. He held up both hands, palms open and tried to remember what the hell conversation he was supposed to be having.

"The AI," Young said. "Is worried about you. It's just giving you a chance to sort of sort yourself out for a little while, you know?"

"You don't have to _parse it out _for me," Rush hissed. "Or fucking _simplify_ things. I understand what it is supposedly so afraid of, given that it exists at all, certainly better than _you_ do. I exist in a fucking milieu of nearly infinite complexity which makes it categorically impossible to determine whether the system in which I find myself at any given time is _closed_ or _open_, which," he continued, clearly working himself up more and more by the second, "Becomes a _fucking_ salient _fucking_ point when I am trying to logicially or heuristically or algorithmically determine _what to do_ in any given time interval. Coupled with the fact that all my data access is random and I cannot force it to be serial unless I _really_ fucking make it serial which is not useful because do you know how long my fucking memory stretches it would take me goddamn _hours_ to run any search query and your fucking inane statements that are totally devoid of any informational content are just _adding to the problem_."

"Just," Young said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, holding up both hands, finding himself entirely unable to deal with any aspect of the situation was being presented with, "Take it easy."

Rush looked at him with a locked expression. Young felt his headache recede slightly as Rush's thoughts pulled away from his own.

"Careful," the AI murmured, crouching inches from Rush. "I'm not sure how much he trusts you—we've been modifying his mind for hours but he's still not integrated with the ship. He's only in partial contact with _your_ mind. From his perspective, this doesn't look good."

"Nick," Young said, pitching his voice low, his hands still open in front of him. "What are you _doing_?"

"Why are you _interested_?" Rush replied, his voice barely audible, his eyes dark.

"Be very cautious," Daniel said, his voice low, "about what you say next."

Young swallowed. "I was just—" he said, forcing his voice into a casual cadence despite the way his heart hammered in his chest. "I was just wondering if you were busy. Because, if not, I thought maybe we could get out of here for a while."

The set of Rush's shoulders relaxed marginally, and the pressure of his thoughts against Young's partially lowered block returned. Young winced slightly at the spike of pain that shot through his temples.

"And do what?" Rush asked, sounding lost.

"Whatever," Young said.

"This isn't sustainable," Rush whispered.

"I know," Young replied. "But it doesn't have to be. You're gonna do some stuff with your new forty percent of the CPU, and then after a little while the AI is going to let you back into the ship and I'm going to lower my block all the way, and once we get that done, I'm thinking you're going to stop having these times where you're not really sure if all this is real or not. That's the plan."

Rush looked away abruptly, his expression pained.

"What time is it?" Young asked.

"You think I have any idea?" Rush whispered. "That's unreasonably optimistic of you."

Young fished around in his pocket for his cellphone and looked at the display. "0400," he said quietly. "Hardly anyone is going to be up and around. Let's go."

"Go where?" Rush asked.

"Do normal human things. Shower. Shave. Find you a shirt that doesn't say 'mathlete.' Get breakfast."

"Alright," Rush said quietly.

"How are your feet? Young asked. "You okay to walk a little bit?"

"They're fine," Rush said, looking down at his hands.

"Good," Young said, pushing himself to his feet, and dragging both pairs of boots out from beneath the bed. He made short work of putting his on and then tried not to watch as Rush followed suit more slowly. When the scientist was ready, Young closed a hand around his arm and carefully pulled him up.

"I'll be around," Daniel murmured, watching them carefully. "If you need me,"

Young's eyes flicked toward it, but by the time he looked, it was gone.

Rush got his feet firmly beneath him, but did not step out of Young's grip. After a brief hesitation, Young pulled Rush's arm over his shoulders and they left his quarters.

* * *

><p>Eight hours later, Young sat on the low table in his quarters, his laptop open in front of him. Next to him, Rush was again asleep, this time on the couch.<p>

"The chair would be safer," the AI said quietly. "For you. It would isolate his mind."

"We are _not_ using the chair. I am _not_ pulling you two apart after all this shit."

The AI looked away.

"I think we should do it right now," it said finally.

"You're sure about this?" he whispered. "You're sure it's not going to just wake him up and scare the _hell_ out of him?"

"I think," Daniel said quietly. "That even if we explained it to him in excruciating detail, he would still crash and reset along with the CPU, at which point he would lose any understanding he had of what was happening. Furthermore," the AI said quietly, "Speaking from experience, crashing and or resetting is a very alarming sensation and it is possible that if he were awake, he might be able to _prevent_ the crash and subsequent restart which would leave him both panicked and in control of _all_ of Destiny's systems."

"Okay," Young said quietly. "Give me a minute." He got to his feet and turned, walking out into the hallway. He unclipped his radio.

"Eli," he said, broadcasting on the channel assigned to the science team.

"Hey," Eli responded, his voice clearly relieved beneath the hiss of the radio. "How's it going?"

"I wanted to let you know," Young said. "That the CPU's going to restart, probably sometime in the next five minutes."

"It will drop them out of FTL," Daniel said, scaring the hell out of Young as he emerged through a metal bulkhead immediately next to him.

"Don't _do_ that," Young hissed.

Daniel shrugged.

"Um, _restart_?" Eli said, drawing out the words. "And you know this how?"

"How do you _think_?" Young asked pointedly.

"Yeah, okay. Good point. So—should we just drop out of FTL now then?"

"No," Young said, watching the AI shake its head.

"Tell him not to override anything," the AI murmured.

"Look, don't worry about it, just—don't override anything."

There was a long pause.

"If you know the CPU is going to restart, I think we should drop out of FTL _now_," Eli said finally.

"That will definitely wake him up," the AI said. "And it's not necessary. There are protocols in place."

"That's a negative," Young said shortly into the radio. "Young out." He spun and hit the door controls, looking over at the AI. "We'd better do this before he decides to drop the ship out _anyway_."

"He's already trying," the AI said, smiling faintly, "And failing to create a workaround for my lockout."

"I wouldn't count him out," Young said mildly.

"He is extremely intelligent," the AI said. "But he is not Nick."

"Thank god," Young said grimly.

"Agreed," the AI replied.

They walked back into the room together. Young sat down again on the low table and quietly shut his laptop.

"At the moment I take down the firewall," Daniel whispered. "You'll need to block him out."

"I don't think so," Young said mildly.

"It's required," the AI said quietly. "Otherwise your mind could be damaged. Further."

Young looked at it steadily for a moment.

"Let me make one thing _absolutely_ _clear_," Young hissed, leaning forward. "If I find out that you are _manipulating me_, we are fucking _done. _Do you understand that?"

The AI looked back at him, its expression calm and unreadable. "I do." It paused, then added. "Your mind is already injured, and even though he doesn't mean to, he's appropriating some of your capacity. He can't help it. He doesn't even realize he's doing it."

Young looked at it through narrowed eyes.

"It's one of the main reasons why you're experiencing so much pain," the AI continued. "And it leaves you unacceptably open to Destiny when I reintegrate with him. When we do this, he will instinctively retreat from the reintegration and when he does that, he will pull Destiny into your mind. Much as he did on the shuttle."

Young sighed in frustration.

"If you wish to do this without the use of the chair," the AI said, "then, when I tell you, you _must_ block."

"Fine," Young said, finally defeated. He looked down at Rush. The other man was still sleeping, his head resting on one arm. "Sorry about this, genius," he whispered. "It just doesn't seem fair, somehow."

"Ready?" The AI asked.

Young nodded, locking eyes with it.

It looked back at him, its expression intent. It held up three fingers.

Two.

One.

"Now," it hissed, flickering.

Young blocked.

The AI vanished.

Rush jerked and then twisted on the couch to press his hand down to the deck plating.

The lights cut out and the ship dropped from FTL. The hiss of the air recirculators shut off.

"Rush?" Young whispered into the darkness.

For a moment, he waited in silence.

Then the lights reengaged at maximal brightness as he felt the sudden sickening sensation of a jump back to FTL. White noise blasted through the speakers and resolved into something more interpretable, a few bars of piano that he could sense not just as a sound but as a memory in his fingers before it faded away to nothing.

The lights dimmed down and the air recirculators kicked back in.

The AI flickered as a hazy opacity in his peripheral vision, its outline terribly familiar.

The constant grind of Young's headache lifted.

He turned to look at it, just in time to see its projection stabilize. It held its form for only a half-second, just long enough for it to give him Rush's twisted, knowing, half-smile before it vanished.

"_Shit_," Young hissed, taking a useless step forward, his hands clenching.

Abruptly, his headache returned full force.

"What the _fuck_," Rush said, pulling his hand away from the floor and half sitting. "You couldn't have fucking _warned me_ you were going to do that?"

Young stared at him.

Rush stared back.

Young lowered his block and felt a wave of irritation from Rush. His mind was still an almost undecipherable swirl of thoughts, but there was something about it that had stabilized. The troubling undercurrent of confusion was gone. The other man's mind felt familiar.

It felt like home.

"Oh _god_," Rush whispered, his expression horrified. "What happened to your _mind_?"

"I don't think _my_ mind is the problem, genius," Young whispered.

Rush pushed himself up, alarmingly uncoordinated. Young had to step in to prevent him from overbalancing.

"Fuck," Rush breathed. "_Fuck_."

"Take it easy," Young murmured, trying to keep them both on their feet.

"Nick," Daniel said sharply. "Don't—"

One of Rush's hands found his temple and his world exploded into white.

* * *

><p>Consciousness returned to him in pieces.<p>

The pressure of Rush's thoughts against his own was somehow both raw and comforting.

"How am I going to do this?" Rush whispered.

"I don't know," Daniel whispered.

"I'm going to fail."

"You will not fail entirely."

"Is that supposed to make me feel _better_?"

"Yes," Daniel murmured.

"Well it's not fucking working," Rush said, his voice breaking.

Young's managed to crack his eyes open. He was lying on the floor between the couch and the low table, his head in Rush's lap. Rush had one hand pressed to his mouth in a closed fist. His shoulders were hunched.

"Ego sum ita paenitet, Nick."

His headache was gone.

"Scio, sweetheart," Rush breathed.

"I would do anything for you," Daniel said quietly. "Anything. Do you understand what I mean?"

"Yes," Rush whispered. "But I—" he glanced down at Young and broke off abruptly, shifting his position to fix Young with an intense gaze.

"Everett," Rush whispered. "Are you alright?"

Young nodded, still feeling somewhat hazy and disconnected from his body.

"Talk to me," Rush whispered.

"What _happened_?" Young asked.

"I repaired some damage to your mind," Rush said. "A bit more zealously than was required, unfortunately."

"Um," Young said, trying to hold his thoughts together. "Damage?"

"Yes," Rush whispered the edge of his thumb grazing Young's temple. "You didn't let go," Rush said. "When the shuttle crashed. You should have let go."

"Well," Young murmured, "Easier said than done."

"Apparently," Rush whispered, looking devastated.

"I feel okay," Young said quietly.

"Because I'm holding you together," Rush murmured.

"So no problem then," Young said, letting his eyes drift shut.

"But I won't always be able to do so," Rush murmured, his fingers trailing through Young's hair.

Young brought his hands up to his face. "Can we not talk about this right now? How are _you_ doing?"

"Well," Rush murmured, pulling him into a sitting position with one arm snaking around his chest. "I'm no longer concerned that I'm being tortured by the Nakai and that you're somehow a splintered, self-aware fragment of my sloppily constructed but rather innovative solution to a dictionary problem, if that's what you're asking."

"Um," Young said. "What?"

"I'm fine," Rush whispered. "Mostly. I'll let you mess about in my head later."

"You're not going to have some kind of nuclear meltdown and destroy the ship?" Young said, his eyes shut, his head resting against Rush's shoulder.

"Not planning on it, no," Rush murmured in his ear.

"Alright then," Young replied.


	46. Chapter 46

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** Thanks so much to all of you for your reviews! Hope you guys like this one! This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>Young stood next to Scott on the observation deck, one foot resting on the small ledge beneath the window, his hands in his pockets.<p>

"Well," Scott said, his hands braced against the railing, "They certainly weren't happy about it. That much was obvious even to me. I think General O'Neill is trying to maneuver for you, but it's hard to tell sometimes with him, you know?"

Young sighed.

"But at one point," Scott continued, "When they were grilling me on the specifics of Telford and Rush's interactions on board Destiny, O'Neill got up to get some coffee and honest to god, sir, he _winked_ at me. I'm not really sure what to make of that. It could have been just a wink of commiseration, or it could have been an I've-got-your-back kind of wink. I really didn't get a chance to ask."

"Have they given their recommendation yet?"

"No, we're supposed to check back in the day after tomorrow. They requested that you send Wray. I got the impression that the IOA may be putting your command to a vote."

"Well," Young said. "At least Wray will vote for me. Probably. Did you get a sense as to whether they're going to let the charges against Telford stand?"

Scott rubbed the back of his neck. "Honestly, it's not helping your case that Rush refuses to make a statement."

Young sighed, leaning his forehead against the glass of the observation deck. "He's not back on active duty yet," Young murmured. "He's injured."

"Yeah," Scott said, "But they know that he's not _so_ injured that he can't make a statement. It's been four days since TJ released him from the infirmary, so—" Scott compressed his lips. "Like I said. If you could get him to put something on the record—that would really help. Even just the basics. What Telford did and said. Otherwise I don't think Article 128 is going to stand, and you'll just be left with the insubordination. And as for that, well—" Scott broke off. "Rush was the only one who heard you give that order to Telford."

"I'll get him to give a statement," Young growled.

"Worst case scenario," Scott said, "Greer and I can—"

"Don't say it, lieutenant." Young cut him off.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"But I appreciate the sentiment."

"Yes sir," Scott murmured. "I'm thinking that—"

Young lost the rest of what Scott was about to say as the background swirl of Rush's thoughts froze and fractured in an unfamiliar way. A bolt of pain shot through Young's temples and a dull roar filled his ears. He half-fell against the glass.

Rush's focus was elsewhere—on something, _in_ something that Young did not recognize. Something that was not Destiny, but was equally dark. Equally inaccessible to him.

He felt Scott's hand close around his upper arm as his knees buckled.

He tried to take a deep breath. His vision was wavering.

Finally, _finally_ Rush's focus shifted back to him. The other man flooded into his consciousness like the tide, pulling their thoughts ever closer, sweeping carefully through the pained places in his mind until finally they were brought into complete apposition and Rush was seeing out of his eyes.

/What the _hell_?/ Young projected at him. /Are you alright?/

"This is lieutenant Scott, TJ, please respond."

/I'm fine,/ Rush replied. /Sorry about that./

/You're _sorry_?/ Young echoed faintly.

He heard static from Scott's radio.

/Yes I was—briefly but intensively distracted./

"TJ," Scott said more insistently. "Please _respond_."

Young pushed himself up onto one elbow and looked at Scott. "Lieutenant," he said. "I'm fine."

Scott shot him a wary look.

"I still think TJ should—"

"It was _Rush_," Young said pointedly, simultaneously sending a surge of irritation in the scientist's direction. Rush sent him a nonverbal wave of apology.

"Yeah, I kind of figured," Scott said, helping him sit. "I still think TJ should take a look at you."

"What is she going to do?" Young murmured.

/What the _hell_?/ Young fired at Rush.

/I was recalibrating,/ Rush replied and beneath the words, Young got the sense of changing voltages in small and delicate circuits.

"I don't know," Scott bit his lip, looking at his radio. "She's not answering. That's very unlike her."

Young frowned and pushed himself to his feet. Rush picked up on his wave of concern.

/I'm sure there's a perfectly non-ominous explanation for this,/ the scientist commented. /Likely her radio has run down./

Young put one hand against the glass of the observation deck to steady himself and then unclipped his own radio. "TJ," he said. "This is Colonel Young. Please respond."

Nothing but static.

He flipped to an open channel. "All military personnel, please be advised that we are currently attempting to locate Lieutenant Johansen. If you see her, please tell her to check in with me immediately."

Less than five seconds went by before his radio hissed again.

"Colonel, this is Greer. TJ is _missing_?"

"She's not answering her radio," Young said. "Probably not a big deal, but do me a favor and just take a couple of guys and start sweeping the halls, will you? Scott and I are heading to the infirmary."

/For god's sake,/ Rush commented in obvious irritation. /What is _wrong_ with you people? This is no way to fucking run an organization./

/Why don't you go back to plotting to take over the ship or whatever it is you do with your free time these days?/

/Effectively, I've _already _taken over the ship. But I'm happy to let you continue to run things for me. I enjoy being periodically astounded by the inefficiencies of your command style./

/Shut up,/ Young replied, as he felt Rush begin to detangle himself from his mind. /We're talking about all of this later. Don't think I didn't notice that you explained _nothing_./

/Yes yes,/ Rush replied. /Go mount your search./

Young and Scott left the observation deck and headed toward the infirmary. They were nearly there, just past Young's own quarters, when they spotted TJ and Wray, locked together, shoulder to shoulder, Wray supporting TJ, who also had one hand on the wall.

"Whoa," Scott yelled ahead as they broke into a run. "Hold up."

They reached them in a handful of seconds, Young sliding in between TJ and Wray to wrap his hands around her upper arms, steadying her. Her skin was the color of chalk, her eyes red-rimmed and half-shut.

"I'm alright," TJ said faintly.

"The _hell_ you are," Young growled. "What happened?" He glanced back at Wray.

Wray looked at TJ.

TJ shook her head, almost imperceptibly.

Young narrowed his eyes.

"I found her in the hallway," Wray said. "She's exhausted. She's been pushing herself much too hard."

Young made a snap decision and stepped in, unbalancing TJ and picking her up in one smooth motion.

"Colonel," she said sharply. "I said I was _fine_."

"Don't give me that," he snapped as he started toward the infirmary. Scott and Wray trailed after him. "You weren't answering your radio. Were you _unconscious_?"

"No," TJ said. "No. Well—_very_ briefly."

"Great," Young said. He turned to look at Wray. "Camile, can you get someone in on the stones to take a look at TJ?"

"That's not necessary," TJ said, her head resting against his shoulder.

"Yes it damn well _is_," Young said. Scott sped up to hit the door controls for the infirmary and Young strode through, depositing TJ carefully on the nearest gurney. "This is more than just pushing yourself. I know you. I _know_ you, god damn it."

TJ said nothing.

"Scott," Young said. "Can you give us a minute?"

Scott nodded and took a half step back before spinning and heading for the door.

TJ levered herself up onto one elbow. "Everett," she said quietly. "I really am fine. Just tired."

Young braced both hands on the mattress and leaned forward slightly, dropping his head as he fought his own exhaustion. "God," he sighed. "Between you and Rush—"he broke off and looked up, suddenly suspicious.

He fixed TJ with an intent stare.

Her eyes widened slightly and her hands came up, palms forward.

"_Damn it_, TJ," he shouted, shoving himself away from the gurney. "What the _hell_ did he _do_ to you? You can't just—"

He felt Rush's startled attention direct itself over to his mind, but Young shoved him away and half-blocked, getting a brief icepick-to–the-eye sensation for his trouble.

"He just wanted to try something," TJ said. "He thought—"

"_Try_ something?" Young said incredulously. "_Try _something? In your _head_? Was _Wray_ in on this? I swear to _god_, TJ, if I find out that—"

"Hey." Despite her obvious exhaustion, her voice was cool and sharp and cut off what he had been about to say. She sat up. "Back off. This has _nothing_ to do with you. And nothing to do with the ship. It was a personal matter."

"Every single goddamned thing he does _affects_ me, TJ. Either he just can't get that through his head, or he doesn't give a shit. I don't know which, but whatever he did to you—I felt it. And it was fucking _painful_, alright? At least for me. So I'm sorry if I'm intruding into your personal life. Or whatever. But I want to know what the _hell_ he did, and why the _hell_ you let him do it."

TJ looked away.

"Have you really not guessed?" she whispered, her eyes red-rimmed. "Hasn't it occurred to you that I might have a very good reason to let him into my head?"

Young took a deep breath, trying to calm down enough to think the entire situation through. He turned away from her, pacing a few steps down the length of the infirmary, his hands in his pockets. Finally he turned back to her.

"He was trying to fix you," he murmured. "The—" he broke off, waving a hand, barely able to say it. "The ALS."

"Yes," TJ breathed.

Young looked down at the floor, stubbornly fighting his growing headache.

"Did it work?" he asked, looking back up at her.

"He thinks it did," she whispered.

"Good," he said, barely able to look at her. "That's—"

"Oh come on," TJ said, slipping off her gurney in one fluid motion and wrapping her arms around him.

"That's good," he whispered into her hair.

"I didn't want to tell you," she said into his shoulder. "I didn't want to tell anyone—I didn't want anyone to know if it didn't work. I _still _don't know what will happen."

"Yeah," he said letting her go.

"But—" TJ gave him a watery smile. "At least it's an unknown. It's not a certainty. That's the most anyone ever gets. A chance to keep going."

"Yup," Young said, crossing his arms over his chest.

They were silent for a moment.

"So," he said quietly. "You're _sure_ you're okay? He didn't screw you up, or anything?"

"Not that I can tell," TJ said with a faint smile.

"Apparently," Young whispered, "These things aren't always so straightforward. It's hard to tell what he's done exactly. Sometimes you don't realize until a long time after he's done it."

"I think," TJ said quietly, "That he was careful. He's been working on how to do it—" she paused, compressing her pale lips. "For a long time."

"How long?" Young asked.

"At least since Chloe's engagement party. Probably longer."

"He's going to drive me insane," Young said, conversationally. "I'm not sure if I've ever explicitly warned you about that, but I'm doing it now."

TJ tried to smile at him, but she couldn't quite pull it off.

Young flashed a quick, unsteady smile back at her.

"You should go talk to him," TJ said quietly.

"You shouldn't be alone," Young said quietly. "You look terrible. No offense."

"I'll go to Varro's quarters," TJ said.

"If you're sure." He had a hard time looking at her.

"I'm sure," TJ whispered. For a moment she was silent. "Walk me there?"

Young nodded.

Their walk over to Varro's quarters was mostly silent. They stopped together outside the door and Young stepped back and let her go.

She looked at him, but did not push the door controls.

"What is going to happen to you?" she asked him, her voice almost inaudible.

"I don't know," he replied.

She looked at him.

He hit the door chime.

After a few seconds, Varro opened the door.

"Tamara," Varro said, taking in her pallor, her exhausted appearance. "What _happened_?"

TJ turned away from Young. "It's nothing," she said. "I'm just tired."

Varro and Young locked eyes for a moment.

"See you later, TJ," Young said. "I want to have whomever Wray gets from earth take a look at you, just to be on the safe side."

TJ nodded.

"I'll send them here," Young said. "You're off duty until tomorrow, at the earliest."

"Okay," TJ murmured, leaning into Varro's grip.

Young nodded at both of them and then turned away and walked back the way he had come.

* * *

><p>Young spent half an hour fighting his low-level headache before he finally relented and dropped the half-block between his mind and Rush's. The directionless imagery of Rush's dreamscape pressed against his own thoughts, banishing his headache. He hesitated for a moment, then gave Rush a sharp mental shove.<p>

/Wake up,/ he snapped. /You're not supposed to be sleeping without me _watching_ you./

Rush fired a wordless wave of confused irritation back at him.

/Don't give me that,/ Young shot at him. /Why the _hell_ didn't you tell me that you were going to mess around in TJ's head?/

/I didn't think you'd be very amenable to such an idea,/ Rush replied.

/So you went behind my back. Again. You realize that when you _don't_ agree with someone is when you talk to them about how to resolve things, right? That's the whole _point_ of communication./

/Look,/ Rush said. /We've both made compromises in order—/

/Really. And how have you compromised _anything_ for me?/

/My entire _existence_ has become an infinite fucking compromise, thanks to you,/ Rush snapped. /So you can just fuck off. Tamara didn't want to involve you, so I _didn't_./

/What if something had happened?/

/What the fuck do you think Wray was there for?/

/And what was _Wray_ going to do?/

/Fucking go and get _you_./

Young sighed. /You could have warned me. I practically passed out from the goddamn stress of it all./

/Yes,/ Rush said. /I know./

/But _you're_ okay?/

/Yes. What you experienced was caused by—/ Rush broke off and Young could feel him searching for the word he wanted. /By a diversion of the energy that I've been using to keep your mind fully intact./

/You're actively using energy to prevent me from getting a headache?/ Young asked.

/Yes,/ Rush said. /And for a moment, I needed it for Tamara./

Young stopped outside his quarters, leaning his head against the metal of the bulkhead for a moment.

The door swished open of its own accord, and he smiled faintly.

He stepped through the door and looked down at Rush, who was lying on the floor with his feet propped on Young's couch. He didn't look much better than TJ had.

"I have no idea why I put up with you," Young growled, gently nudging Rush's shoulder with the toe of his boot.

"I confess," Rush said, looking up at him, "That I remain somewhat unclear on that point as well."

For a moment, they were silent.

"You were supposed to meet with Volker to discuss some of the technical glitches that the science team noticed in the starboard sensor array." Young dropped onto the couch.

"I remotely recalibrated the array." Rush replied, his eyes shut.

"_Then_," Young said, "You were supposed to meet with Camile to make a statement regarding Colonel Telford's disciplinary hearing."

"I don't need to make a statement," Rush replied. "I'm not pressing charges."

"And as I explained to you," Young said, "That is immaterial. _I_ am the one pressing charges."

"Yes yes. But consider," Rush said, "That if that is indeed the case, perhaps it should be _you_ who makes a statement."

"You're being obstructive," Young growled.

"Maybe a bit," Rush said, looking utterly unperturbed and, in fact, faintly amused.

"_Then_," Young said. "You were supposed to meet me for dinner _in the mess_ at 1800 hours."

Rush raised his eyebrows.

"I can't help but notice," Young said, "That though it is currently ten minutes past 1800 hours, you are not in the mess."

"I was otherwise engaged," Rush said, looking at the MRE's that Young had dropped on the table. "It seems that you brought me dinner anyway."

"Don't let it go to your head," Young growled as Rush levered himself up on one elbow.

"I would never," Rush said dryly.

They looked at each other for a moment.

"Nick," Young said quietly. "Thanks."

"I didn't do it for you," Rush replied.

"Don't be a jerk," Young murmured.

"You're welcome," Rush said, looking away.

After a long moment, Rush pulled his feet off the couch and stood. Young shifted along the couch to give him space to sit.

"Are you okay?" Young said finally.

"Yes."

"Why were you lying on the floor?"

"Well," Rush said. "To be honest, I could have lived without the blocking."

"Yeah. Sorry about that," Young murmured. "Headache?"

"Mmm," Rush said equivocally.

"That's what happens to _you_," the AI hissed, appearing abruptly. "_You_ get a headache. _He_ becomes too disoriented to even _stand_."

Young jumped at its sudden appearance, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Oh leave off," Rush snapped, his eyes narrowing.

The AI vanished.

"Jesus _Christ_," Young whispered, trying to fight back a wave of guilt at the AI's words. "That thing scares the hell out of me whenever it does that. It needs a chime or something."

"Yes," Rush said darkly, his eyes tracking something that Young could no longer see.

"So," Young said, when the scientist's gaze flicked back to him.

"So _what_?" Rush murmured, looking utterly exhausted.

"So you can't just leave it at that," Young said, his eyes flicking into the empty air where the AI had been. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Rush replied. "Nothing you need to worry about."

"Rush," Young growled.

"Everything becomes more difficult."

"Everything." Young replied. "What kind of everything?"

"This," Rush said, with a faint smile, "I will tolerate from Volker, but not from you."

"What, being questioned?"

"The assumption of ambiguity where none exists. I said 'everything' because 'everything' is what I _meant_."

"You know," Young said, elbowing him gently, "You really are a lot of work."

"Says the person who has been the recipient of over _eight hours_ of sustained mental repair work. It makes what I did for Tamara seem like nothing."

"Yeah," Young said, abruptly uncomfortable. "If you say so. I feel exactly the same."

"Well you _would_, wouldn't you? The real test comes later."

"Fixing would be nice," Young said mildly. "I have a feeling that I'm going to find it inconvenient to pass out every time you get distracted."

Rush waved a hand dismissively.

"Don't give me that," Young said, half-amused, half-irritated.

"It was a unique circumstance," Rush said, glancing at him obliquely.

"Yeah," Young said after a moment. "I suppose it was."

They were quiet for a moment and Young dragged the MREs over within reach and handed one to Rush.

The weight of what remained unsaid between them pressed down unbearably. Young wanted to confront the other man about Telford, about where he went at night, about TJ, about the AI, about the multiverse, about how long Rush could survive the virus that was turning him into something that he wasn't.

But instead, he said nothing. He stared down at his unopened MRE.

"Fuck _eating_," Rush said, abruptly grabbing Young's dinner out of his hand and tossing it back on the table.

"What—" Young broke off in surprise as he was shoved sideways, ending up on his back on the couch.

"_What_." Rush hissed, half on top of him. "You have some kind of _objection_?"

"Um," Young said, "Not really, I just—"

Rush kissed him.

"You're frequently," Rush said, pulling away as his hand closed around the hair at the nape of Young's neck, "Doing this kind of thing when it suits you."

"I guess," Young said faintly, breaking off as Rush began to kiss his way down Young's jawline.

"You guess," Rush repeated disdainfully. "You fucking _guess_, do you?" The scientist's lips grazed the shell of his ear. "Please do me a favor and make an effort toward the persistent application of both lexical precision and lexical accuracy."

"Sure," Young said, trying to hold onto his train of thought in the face of Rush—of _Rush_—kissing his ear. "One question for you though."

"What?" Rush breathed his teeth scraping against Young's ear.

"How are you this good at _everything_?"

"Flatterer," Rush murmured, kissing him again.

The separation between their minds began to narrow and blur and when their thoughts had nearly blended completely, when the troubled uncontrollable swirl of Rush's thoughts were almost his own, when they were balanced on the edge—Rush pulled back.

"I'm going to fix the rest," Rush murmured quietly, his eyes dark and serious. "Everything I can."

"You're not too tired?" Young whispered.

"No," Rush said, with his pained half smile.

Young nodded.

Rush looked at him for a moment, and then flooded his mind with light.

* * *

><p>The door chime woke him. He was alone on the couch. It took him a moment to regain his equilibrium and sit up, his muscles protesting at the sudden movement.<p>

"Come," he managed, digging through his pocket to find his cell phone to check the time. It was just past midnight.

The door hissed open to reveal Eli standing in the hallway. The young man walked through the doorway.

"Hi," Eli said quietly.

"Eli," Young said, trying to shake off his exhaustion. "What's up?"

In the back of his mind, Rush thoughts swirled around and through the intricacies of relativistic physics.

Eli didn't say anything, and Young looked up at him.

"Do you think you could come with me?" Eli asked. "There's something I want to show you."

Young nodded and got to his feet, taking a few seconds to steady himself. He followed Eli into the hallway.

"What's up?" Young asked, the simple act of walking sharpening his alertness.

"I—" Eli broke off.

"Eli," Young said sharply, looking at the other man carefully. "_What_."

Eli said nothing, his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed out ahead of them, down one of Destiny's long, empty corridors.

"Eli," Young said insistently.

"Weeks ago," Eli said quietly. "_Weeks_ ago he came to me. He asked me to help him."

"Help him with _what?_" Young snapped.

"Two things," Eli said quietly. "The first was the construction of a program that would screen the cosmic background radiation, continuously extending out from our position at any given time along our current trajectory as a right circular cone."

"He was looking for places where the multiverse collided," Young guessed.

"At first it was places where it had collided or was colliding," Eli murmured. "But lately, we've refined our detection parameters. Based on shifts in temperature and anisotropy, we can predict when and where a collision will occur."

"You said _two_ things," Young murmured, trying to fight down his rising sense of dread.

"The other," Eli murmured, "Was a safe way of channeling a massive influx of power from the solar collectors through the computer memory bank."

Young glanced at him, raising his eyebrows.

"It's where they are," Eli whispered. "Dr. Perry. Dr. Franklin. Ginn."

"I see," Young said quietly.

"He had already worked out how to power the gate," Eli murmured, "By the time he brought me on board, you know?" Eli glanced over at him. "He finished building in the safeguards around the time that you were almost killed by that dart on the Seeder ship."

Young rubbed his jaw, looking away from Eli.

"So, just to, uh, lay it out for you, he can detect and time a collision point," Eli whispered, not looking at Young. "He can use the energy collected as we fly toward it to power the gate. He can direct the energy through the memory banks to allow Ginn, Dr. Perry, and Dr. Franklin to ascend." Eli shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. "He's already unlocked them."

"_What_?" Young breathed. "_When_?"

"Last night," Eli murmured.

"So what kind of time table are we talking about here?" Young said, working to keep his voice steady.

"Days," Eli said quietly. "_Maybe_ days."

Young stopped, one hand reaching out to touch the metal paneling of the nearest bulkhead.

"Earlier tonight," Eli whispered, "He altered Destiny's course. I don't know what our ETA is," Eli whispered. "But it's soon. It's going to be really, _really_ soon."

Young balled his hand into a fist, pressing his knuckles against the wall.

"_Fuck_," he whispered. "Fuck."

"I'm so sorry," Eli said, his voice strained, the words barely intelligible. "I didn't—I wasn't—"

"Not your fault," Young said, unable to look at Eli. "Not your fault."

"But I— I _knew_. I knew and I—"

"We all knew," Young whispered. "We _all_ knew. You and me and TJ and Greer."

"Different parts," Eli said. "We knew different parts."

"Yeah," Young said quietly.

"What are you going to do?" Eli asked, his whisper cracking.

"I can't save him," Young said.

"No," Eli said, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. "I don't think you can."

Young clenched his jaw. He gave Eli a curt nod, and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Oh god," Eli said, his expression cracking into utter misery. "I know that look. Please don't. Please don't stay here."

"Eli," Young said. "It will be alright."

"_Both_ of you?" Eli said, one hand tearing through his hair. "Unlikely as it is, there's a non-zero probability that he makes it out of this somehow. Ascends—or _something_. But you?"

"Eli." Young murmured. "Enough."

"At least he _can_ ascend. Physiologically," Eli whispered desperately. "But _you_?"

"I said _enough_," Young snapped. "You say nothing about this. To _anyone_. You got that? Not TJ. Not Greer. Not _anyone_."

Eli looked up at the corridor lights, his eyes glittering.

"Yeah," he said finally. "Yeah, okay. The last secret of Eli Wallace."

Young looked at him for a moment, forcing his breathing back under control.

"The last?" Young said with a faint, empty smile. "I don't think it will be your last."

Eli looked at him, his face pale, his eyes red.

"You're probably right," he said quietly.

"You said you had something to show me," Young whispered.

"Yeah," Eli said, the set of his shoulders somehow defeated. "Yeah, come on."

They spent the rest of the walk in silence, Eli leading Young through corridors that he rarely frequented until they came to a closed door at the intersection of three corridors. Young could feel Rush—utterly absorbed in the calculation of ultra-relativistic velocities and displacement as a backwards way to come to an understanding of time.

Young sighed.

Eli hit the door controls and the metal panel slid open to reveal Rush standing in the center of the room, midair displays projected around him, banks of monitors lining the walls, lighting the dim room with information of every kind.

"The _real_ control interface room," Eli murmured. "Apparently the entire time we were using like—a security station."

"Yup," Young said quietly. "I guess so."

Rush did not seem to have noticed them.

"You're not um, I don't know, _furious_?"

"In the grand scheme of 'stuff he hasn't told me', Eli, a secret CI room doesn't even make the list."

"Yeah," Eli said quietly. "I guess not."

"So," Young said, his eyes fixed on Rush, who still hadn't acknowledged either of them. "What's his deal?"

"He's doing something new," Eli said quietly. "Interfacing without an interface. He's not so good at noticing his _actual_ surroundings when he does it."

"This is not so new as you might think," Young murmured. "This is what you wanted to show me?"

Eli shook his head and motioned Young over to two adjacent, non-descript viewscreens near the door that were mounted into the wall. Both of them showed lines of code, flowing rapidly in Ancient, one in yellow, one in blue.

"I set this up last night," Eli said quietly. "He hasn't noticed it. Or if he has, he doesn't really care."

"What is it?" Young asked.

"Lines of code, Eli said, "Displayed as they are run in real time in a compressed form. What you're looking at in yellow is the AI."

"And that one?" Young said, pointing to the second monitor.

"This one," Eli said pointing to the monitor with the blue text, "Is flagging the code that _he's _running."

Young looked at Eli, not entirely clear on where he was going with all of this.

"Just watch," Eli said. "It could take a few minutes."

They watched in silence for nearly five minutes before a bright flash of green lines appeared amongst the blue of Rush's code.

"Any second now," Eli said.

Both monitors exploded into identical green lines of code flowing too fast for the eye to follow.

At the back of Young's mind, the bright focus of Rush's thoughts dimmed and quickened.

"_Shit_," Young murmured. "Is that—"

"The combination," Eli said quietly. "Keep watching."

After less than twenty seconds the code split apart and slowed, one monitor returning to blue, the other to yellow.

"That's impossible," Young said, his heart racing. "It can't—unmake _itself_."

"Apparently," Eli said, "Now it can. I looked into this. It's using firewalls, rather creatively applied, to keep Rush and the AI separate."

"But why _would_ it?" Young asked, more than a little disturbed.

Eli looked at him. "My guess," he murmured, "Is because _you_ prefer it that way."

Young rubbed his jaw.

"Also," Eli said quietly, "You'll notice that it was _Rush_ who took down the firewall. I've never seen it go the other way. It's always him who initiates the—combining."

"How long do you think he's been able to do this?" Young whispered to Eli.

Eli looked away. "Probably about three hours after you told him the combination exists. You know how he is with workarounds."

"So," Young said quietly. "He takes down the firewall, and then _it_ restores the firewall when it feels like it."

"Yeah," Eli said, "Basically. Look, I can tell just from the way that you talk about it that you don't like it or you don't trust it, or whatever, but there's something about it that you should know," Eli said quietly.

"What's that?" Young asked dryly.

"It's running an iterative bit-rate reduction on _itself_."

"Eli," Young said. "I have no idea what that means."

"It's compressing down parts of the AI. Compressing them in such a way that information is _lost_."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning it's becoming more _him_. It's getting rid of parts of the AI. It _wants_ to be _him_."

"Eli," Young snapped. "You have _no idea_ what it wants."

"And _you_ do?" Eli asked, fixing Young with a look that was hard to meet. "It's not so different from him."

Eli looked at him, clearly on the verge of saying something else.

Young waited.

Eli said nothing.

"Eli," Young said. "Go."

"What are you—"

"It's alright," Young said. "Go."

Eli hesitated.

"Go," Young whispered, looking at Rush.

Eli left the room.

Young walked forward, his boots echoing hollowly on the deck plating. He stopped a few feet from Rush, watching the other man's pathological focus on the changing displays in front of him, following the branching mathematical intuition that seemed to coalesce out of his thoughts without conscious effort or rigorous application of any principles of logic.

Young was sure he could snap him out of it—this half-computational trance that seemed to have buried his external awareness beneath a continuous stream of information that, to Rush, was as pressing as any environmental cue. But instead, he took a seat next to a monitor bank and sat, chin in hand, watching Rush do his work.

Waiting.

After nearly an hour and a half, he finally felt Rush's focus pull out of the computer system, and, shifting slightly, the scientist squared his shoulders and shook his head fractionally.

"Eli," Rush said absently. "Te committitur in starboard array, utinam te?"

"Sorry," Young said. "I sent Eli to bed."

Rush jerked, startled. The scientist whirled around to face him, one hand coming to his chest, his mind fracturing into a panicked swirl.

Young made no move to get up. "So this is where you go," Young said mildly.

Rush half-turned away from him, and took a few steps forward, his hands coming to grip the edge of the nearest monitor bank, a muscle in his check twitching slightly.

"Eli," Rush said quietly.

"Yeah," Young said. "For some reason he seemed to think it was important that I know that you're planning to fly into a collision point and gate the crew home any day now."

Rush said nothing.

"Rush," Young said, hating the way his voice sounded, hating the way Rush's hands gripped the monitor bank, as if a fucking machine was the only thing that kept him from shattering apart. "I told you. I _told_ you. You can't do it. You can't break through."

"I _can_ break through," Rush whispered. "As long as I change nothing."

"What is the _point_ of that?" Young half shouted.

"The energy will still be liberated," Rush said. "I can gate the crew back. I can free the people trapped in the memory banks."

"What happens to Destiny?" Young asked, his voice cracking under the strain.

"Destiny will be destroyed."

"And what about _us_?" Young asked.

"You—you'll go back," Rush said, still gripping the monitor. "And I'll stay."

"To _hell_ with that," Young said. "If you stay, I'm staying too."

"I can _ascend_," Rush said, finally turning to face him, his hand gesturing at his chest in a graceful arc. "But _you_—you'll die here."

"I'm not going back without you."

"You _have_ to," Rush said, like the words were being wrung out of him. "Can't you understand that?"

"It isn't your choice," Young said.

"You have to go _back_," Rush replied. "I know it seems impossible. But this—" he made a vague motion between his temple and Young's direction. "All that connects us—is _artificial._ It doesn't mean _anything_."

"Maybe not to _you_, you egomaniacal _jackass_," Young hissed. "But it does to _me_. I'm not going."

"Don't do this," Rush whispered, not looking at Young, his hands still gripping the monitor bank.

"Sorry genius," he replied, "But I'm not leaving you. Not this time."

"Is that what this is?" Rush said, the words barely audible. "Some kind of atonement? For leaving me on that planet?"

"No."

They were silent for a long time.

"Alright then," Rush whispered.


	47. Chapter 47

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** Thanks so much for the reviews, guys! You are all so wonderful. This chapter is NOT the end. It's a hard one and a sad one though, guys. I'm sorry. This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>They stood together outside Wray's quarters. Rush pressed a hand against the dark metal of the wall, clearly exhausted. The lights at the base of the bulkhead flared and propagated down the corridor in a slow, bright wave.<p>

"You okay?" Young murmured.

"Yes," Rush whispered.

"You really don't _seem_ okay," Young said.

Rush managed a look of annoyed incredulity.

"Yeah," Young murmured, smiling at him faintly. "I get it."

"There's no need to be so fucking appealing, you know," Rush said, still leaning against the wall. "I already said you could stay."

"I can't help it," Young said, hitting the door chime. "It's my way."

Rush exhaled shortly, in something that was almost a laugh.

The door slid open to reveal Wray in sweatpants and a camisole. Her fingers combed self-consciously through her tangled hair. She blinked in the lights of the corridor. They had clearly woken her.

"Oh no," she breathed. "What's happened?"

Young wasn't really sure how to answer that one.

"Could I ah—" Rush broke off, his free hand coming up to press itself against his temple, "Sit down, possibly?"

"Yes," she said briskly, turning to hit the controls for the lights. "Yes, of course. Let me just make the bed."

Young pulled Rush forward into Wray's quarters. The room was larger than average, but smaller than his, with a desk being the only noteworthy feature.

/You okay?/ Young projected, watching Rush carefully.

Rush sent him a vague wave of what Young guessed was _supposed_ to be reassurance, but in actuality was more like a disorganized burst of code. He estimated that the other man had, on the outside, about twenty seconds left in him before he hit the deck.

"Camile," Young said, dragging Rush forward, "Actually, would it be okay with you if—"

Rush started to go down and Young managed to get him onto the bed in one relatively graceful motion. Wray bent down, her dark hair flowing behind her as she swept Rush's feet up.

"I'll get some water," she whispered, heading in the direction of the door.

/Hey,/ Young projected. /Nick. You with me?/

/Yes,/ Rush replied, looking at him from beneath half-lidded eyes.

/Is there a reason you have to do all this _now_?/ Young asked, reaching up to push Rush's hair out of his eyes. /Why not wait a week? Recover first. _Then_ tackle all of this shit./

Rush gave him his pained half smile.

Young entwined their fingers. /You're too tired for this,/ Young said.

"I assure you," Rush said, his eyes closing, "That _waiting_ will not improve anyone's situation."

Young sighed.

The door hissed open and Wray reentered the room, her step quick and light, her hair smelling of TJ's homemade shampoo as she knelt next to the bed, a metal cup of water in her hand.

"Is he alright?" she asked quietly.

"Um," Young said, "Not really, no."

Rush levered himself up on one elbow and took the water, downing it all in one go before collapsing back against the bed.

"Did you get any sleep this afternoon?" Wray asked Rush quietly. "You told me you were going to _rest_."

"Yes," Rush said. "Of course I did."

"And would that be the fifteen minute nap you took before I woke you up and you healed my mind and then you skipped dinner?" Young asked wryly.

"Yes," Rush said, managing to lace his tone with a dignified disdain. "But this is not what we came here to talk about."

Wray looked at both of them, her expression difficult to read.

"Camile," Young said. "We're going to be gating back to earth."

She locked eyes with him, her face briefly frozen in shock. One hand came to her mouth, and she looked away, abruptly, her face partially obscured behind the sweep of her hair.

"Camile," Young murmured.

"Yes," she said, her voice only fractionally unsteady. "Yes. This is just—this is phenomenal. Being able to go back and forth will be—"

"Camile," Young said again. "This is a one time thing. Everyone needs to go. One shot." He paused, and she shook her hair back to look at him. "There will be no coming back," Young finished.

She gave him a searching look.

"Why?" she whispered.

"Because," Rush murmured. "The amount of energy required to power the gate will eventually destroy this ship."

"This doesn't sound like the _safest_ plan," Wray said, looking at them skeptically.

"It's all we've got," Young said. "And time is a factor here. I need your help organizing the crew."

"When is this going to happen?" Wray asked quietly.

"Tomorrow," Young replied, the words as matter of fact as he could make them. "In about twelve hours, actually," he said. "We'll need to send someone in on the stones to let them know we're coming."

"_What_?" Wray breathed. "Why so soon? Why _now_? The transfer of the Ancient database alone is going to take days, at least—"

"It's done," Rush interjected, cracking his eyes to look in her direction. "It's finished. I started it weeks ago. Eli and Volker both have copies on external hard drives."

"But why didn't you _say_ anything?" Wray breathed. "You must have known that this was a possibility."

Young shifted his weight subtly, trying to think of something, _anything_ to tell her.

"False hope and whatnot," Rush said tiredly. "Does it really matter at this point? I'm sure I'll have to explain all of this in short order to homeworld command, so perhaps we can just focus on the logistics of the next twelve hours rather than dissecting the motivations of all parties involved, yes?"

/You're really very good at this,/ Young commented.

/Yes I know. You're a terrible liar. I would have thought that you would have picked up at least a basic proficiency at this point./

Wray looked at Rush, a half-smile at the corner of her mouth.

"This is going in your personnel file, you know."

"As a commendation or a reprimand?" Rush asked dryly.

"It depends on how it plays out," Wray said, unable to resist flashing a quick smile.

Young looked down at his hands.

"I should go," Wray said. "Start organizing. Twelve hours isn't a lot of time."

"No," Young said. "It isn't."

* * *

><p>Several hours later, back in his own quarters, Young sat on the floor, his shoulders against the couch, staring at a blank page in the empty notebook he had borrowed from Wray. The feel of the pen between his fingers, the scrape of his clothing over his skin, the taste of recycled air—all of it was too sharp. Too raw.<p>

Across the ship, preparations for departure were being made. Wray was organizing the civilians into teams. Scott was packing and crating samples they had catalogued, pieces of technology small enough to take with them. Eli was supervising the transfer of any ancillary data off the mainframe.

_Dear JD,_

_I can't really tell you the details of the situation that I find myself in, but I think I may not make it back from this one. I wanted to let you know that_

He turned to a new page.

_Dear JD, _

_I hope you and the family are well. I received your last letter and I'm happy to hear that Luke is settling down somewhat and that_

He turned to a new page.

_Dear JD,_

_Please give my love to everyone. Thinking of you._

He signed his name, ripped out the page, and folded it carefully before tucking it into the pocket of his jacket. He shut the notebook, placing it carefully atop the low table. He leaned back against the couch.

"I'm not gonna lie to you," he whispered, half twisting to look at Rush, who was currently asleep on the couch. "This is not what I pictured."

"Which part?" Rush murmured dryly without opening his eyes.

Young jumped. "You're supposed to be _asleep_," he said.

"Yes well," Rush said, waving a hand vaguely.

"Don't you think that if you're going to be handling all this energy that you should go into this—I don't know, as _rested_ as possible?"

"I don't think it matters," Rush replied.

"That's the spirit," Young said, rolling his eyes.

"The infrastructure to power the gate is wired into the circuitry of the ship at this point. I don't have to do anything except tell it where to go. Eli's perfectly capable of handling most everything once we're in close enough proximity."

"What about the _other_ stuff?" Young said. "Ascending people. Ascending _yourself_. Don't you need to _not_ feel like shit to do it properly?"

"As I stated," Rush murmured. "I don't think it matters."

"Can you not be an obstructionist jackass right now?" Young said, exasperated. "And just _talk_ to me? I'm _helping_ you. I'm literally doing _everything_ you wanted."

"Not everything," Rush whispered, opening his eyes, and levering himself up on one elbow.

Young sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "Are you even going to _try_ to ascend?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"That's not an answer, and the fact that it's not an answer is answer _enough_, you circuitous son of a bitch."

Rush smiled faintly. "Circuitous son of a bitch? I like that one."

"You would," Young said, trying to hang onto his irritation.

They were quiet for a moment.

"I'm going to make the attempt," Rush said quietly. "But you have to understand, that I can't do it this way. Even if we were fully linked. Even if you'd had time to fix my mind to the full extent that it could be fixed."

"Why _not_?" Young asked, the words barely audible.

"You know why," Rush murmured.

"Because you left her," Young whispered. "Because you left her alone."

"Yes."

"Nick. That's not how this is supposed to work. It's not about being perfect. It's not about making no mistakes, it's about _accepting_ who you are—"

"Yes," Rush said cutting him off. "I'm aware."

"Then I don't see what the problem is."

Slowly, Rush pushed himself into a sitting position and dropped down onto the floor next to Young.

"Of course you do," the scientist said finally. "You've seen it all along."

"And you really think that blending your mind with some kind of artificial system is going _fix_ the fact that you hate who you are so much that you think you _deserve_ all of this—the slow unmaking of your mind, the overwriting of your genetic code?"

"Don't be so dramatic," Rush said, smiling faintly.

"Nick." Young looked away, his fingers pressing into his temple. "Let _me_ help you. You don't need to combine with a _machine_ to pull this off."

Rush said nothing for a moment, just shifted slightly closer to him. "It horrifies you," he said finally. "This blending of the biological and the computational."

"Yeah," Young said. "Yeah, it does."

"Consider, though," Rush murmured, "That no one exists inside a closed system. Change is a consequence of interaction with the world. Consciousness is as mutable as anything else that is intrinsic to a person, and you need look no further to find an example of that than your own mind."

"I guess," Young said softly.

"Very few people, even those who never meet a goa'uld or an AI, or a Nakai, escape alteration by their environment," Rush murmured, leaning his head against Young's shoulder. "There is nothing so terrible in this. It's a part of life."

"If you're trying to persuade me that this is a good idea, it's not working."

"I'm not trying to persuade you," Rush said. "I'm just—trying to make you feel better about the whole thing."

"Well, not your best work," Young said, wrapping an arm around him.

"I can see that," Rush replied dryly. "But think about it."

"I don't think I'm going to have any kind of personal revelation in the next six hours," Young said quietly.

"It seems like a short time to you, doesn't it?" Rush asked.

"Yeah. Mainly because placed into the context of an entire human life, it _is_ a short time."

Rush nodded fractionally, his head still resting against Young's shoulder.

"What is time like for you?" Young asked him. "You're getting worse at conceptualizing it—you have to make an effort to even talk about it correctly."

"It stretches almost infinitely" Rush said, opening his fingers in a graceful wave, "Within finite bounds."

"Um," Young said, "I can't even imagine what that's like."

"On a number line," Rush said, "There are an infinite number of points between zero and one, but that infinity, as it were, is bounded by a discrete limit."

"Yeah, mathematically I get you," Young said, rolling his eyes. "It's not like I inherited a knowledge of quantum mechanics and number theory and somehow skipped the concept of _limits_."

"Look," Rush said clearly amused, "In my defense, sometimes you don't _think_ about what you know."

"I asked what it was _like_."

"Difficult," Rush said after a moment. "Transient things—become less so."

"So six hours seems long," Young murmured.

"No," Rush said. "'Six hours' is meaningless to me."

"That must be weird."

"It's somewhat inconvenient."

They were quiet for a moment.

"So how are we going to explain this to everyone? The fact that we're not going."

"What needs explaining? We'll be the last to go through the gate and then—we just," Rush made a sweeping motion with one hand, "Don't."

"They can dial _in_ you know. Now that they have all those ZPMs?"

"No they can't. The gate will remain open until the end, transmitting data. Even if, for some reason, they were to cut it off on their end, they can't dial back in if I don't allow them to do so."

"Okay fine. But people _here_ are going to realize that there might be a problem with you going back."

"They won't," Rush said dismissively, waving a hand. "They won't think about it. Too many other things going on."

"Eli _already_ knows."

"Well, Eli's a unique case."

"What about TJ? What about Chloe? What about _Greer_?"

"Alright," Rush said. "Possibly some of them—"

Young's door chime sounded.

Young looked at Rush with raised eyebrows before getting to his feet. He crossed the room and hit the door controls to see Chloe standing in the doorway, her eyes wide, her expression serious.

"Hi colonel," she said quietly.

"Hi," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"It's true that we're gating back?"

"Yup," Young said.

Chloe looked at him for a moment.

"Is he here?" she asked.

/What was that you were saying, about no one figuring this out?/ he shot at Rush.

Rush sent a wave of exhausted exasperation in his direction. /Let her in,/ the scientist said.

"Yeah," Young murmured, stepping aside, "He's here."

/You want a minute?/

Rush sent him a wave of assent, and Young stepped out into the hallway. To his surprise, Eli was standing just to the left of the doorway.

"Hi," Eli said, leaning against the wall, looking utterly miserable. "I came with Chloe. I'm not just creepily standing outside your door. Just so you know."

"Hi," Young replied, coming to stand next to him.

For a moment, they said nothing.

"There are some people," Eli said, "That are going to take this really hard."

"I know," Young said, burying his hands in his pockets. "Did Chloe figure it out on her own? Or did you tell her?"

"I didn't tell her," Eli said. "She knew. As soon as Wray said that we were going back, she knew. She is—"

"Pretty sharp," Young finished for him.

"Actually, I was going to say—really upset. And I don't think she's necessarily worked out that you're staying as well. That's going to be less obvious, even to the people really in the know."

"I'm not sure what I can do about that."

"You can _tell_ people."

Young sighed. "Eli, this is hard enough as it is without—" Young waved a hand.

"Yeah," Eli said. "Yeah, I get that. But I don't think you guys know—either of you, really, how much you _mean_ to everyone."

Young said nothing.

Eli said nothing.

At the back of his mind, he could feel the distressed swirl of Rush's thoughts as he watched Chloe cry.

"Can I—" Eli said. "Can I be in the last group?"

"Yeah," Young said. "Of course you can."

Young shut his eyes against the blurring of the corridor lights. After a few moments he said, "Can you do something for me?"

"Yeah. Duh. Anything."

Young reached into his pocket and pulled out the neatly folded paper.

"Can you get this to my brother? The SGC has his contact information."

"Yeah," Eli breathed, pulling the letter out of his grip.

* * *

><p>Several hours later, on his way to the gateroom, Young passed by the open infirmary doors. TJ was just visible, the light glinting off her hair as she pulled selected samples off shelves and packed them carefully.<p>

"Hey," he said, stopping to lean in the doorframe.

She turned slowly and looked over at him with lacy red eyes.

"Hey," she whispered.

"TJ," he said quietly. "I—" He couldn't finish.

"I know," she said.

"Do you?"

"Of course I do."

He looked at her.

"What will happen to you," she whispered, "When you reach the collision point?"

"I don't know," he lied.

She nodded, and looked away.

"I'll miss you," she said, her voice breaking.

"Can you explain it to them?" he asked quietly. "You and Eli? All the people we didn't tell." He looked down. "Greer. Wray. Scott. James. The science team. Varro."

TJ nodded, her jaw clenched tight.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

They looked at each other for a moment.

"See you in the gateroom," he said quietly.

"Yeah," TJ said, her eyes locked on his. "See you there."

He turned and ducked out of the infirmary. As he started down a long stretch of empty corridor toward the gateroom he took a few slow, deep breaths to steady himself. After a few moments, he felt, more than saw, the AI fall in next to him.

"Please go with them," Emily said, flickering. "Please."

"Sorry," Young replied. "But it's not happening."

"It will be easier for him if you go," the AI whispered.

"I'm not sure if you're capable of understanding this, kiddo," he murmured, "But this isn't just about him. It's about _me_ as well."

"I know," Emily whispered.

"And this is what I've decided," Young said.

"I know," Emily whispered again before vanishing.

He walked into the gateroom to see Eli, Brody, and Volker huddled over the set of monitors at the back of the room. Rush stood a bit apart from them, looking at the gate.

"Are we ready?" Young asked the four of them.

Rush looked back at Eli, raising his eyebrows. Eli unclipped his radio.

"Hey Chloe, it's me. How are we looking in terms of the in-circuit testing stuff?"

"We just finished." Chloe's voice crackled over the radio. "The integrity is good—no chance that we're going to fry our navigation or something when we do this."

Only a split second passed before Young felt the sickening drop of the ship coming out of FTL.

"Whoa," Eli said. "A little warning would be _nice_," he shot Rush an irritated glare.

Rush gave him a half-shrug.

"Um," Chloe's voice came uncertainly over the radio. "Yeah, we've got an obelisk planet dead ahead of us, but barely within sensor range. I'm just confirming that this is what we _want_, right?"

"Yup," Eli confirmed. "Shut off sublight and just—let her pull us in. Long and slow."

"The planet looks like a nice place," Volker said, looking at the monitor near the gate. "Spectrally speaking, at least."

"Okay," Eli said into his radio. "Lisa, can you lower the collectors? We're going to start dialing."

"Right now?" Park asked. "You don't want to sync up the dialing with the initiation of energy collection? All this power is going to need somewhere to _go_, you know."

"The syncing is being taken care of. Just go when you're ready."

"Okay then," Park said. A few seconds ticked past. "Collectors are down."

Eli turned to Brody. "Dial it up."

Young watched Rush. His arms were crossed over his chest and he continued to look at the gate. At the back of Young's mind he felt Rush's thoughts shift into a pattern more ordered, more obscure, as he took down the firewall that separated his mind from the AI.

The gate began to spin. Incoming energy met outgoing power requirements in a harmony that echoed weakly through his mind, flowing from his link with Rush. Until, with a final clear tone, the event horizon exploded to life and stabilized.

Though it was something that, in the beginning of his time on Destiny, he would have given anything to see—he couldn't bring himself to feel happy about it now.

Rush's thoughts returned to their normal, disordered spiral as the firewall dropped back down.

For a moment, the science team was silent, looking at the gate.

"Holy crap," Eli said. "Somehow, I didn't think it would actually work."

Rush turned, eyebrows raised, to shoot Eli a disdainful look.

Young caught Brody's eye. "Send our GDO frequency."

Brody entered a command.

They waited.

"Everett, is that you?" O'Neill's voice came through over the open radio channel in a burst of static.

"Yes, sir," Young replied.

"Nice work," O'Neill said over the unmistakable sound of cheering. "Start sending your people through at any time. We've got the gateroom prepped for hot arrivals."

"Will do," Young said, looking at Rush.

For a moment, the room was silent.

"Well," Young said into the stillness. "Call them in."

"Hey Camile," Eli said into the radio. "We're ready for the first group."

"I'll be on the bridge," Rush said shortly, spinning on his heel and heading toward the door, which opened at his approach.

Young sighed. /People are going to want to—/

/No,/ Rush snapped. /Absolutely not./

/Alright./ Young said. /Go./

He felt Rush try and fail to suppress a surge of relief. Young was fairly certain that he was equally unsuccessful in suppressing his own wave of disappointment.

* * *

><p>Young stood alone against the wall at the back of the gateroom, watching Wray tick off names as crew members passed through at seven second intervals. Nearly all of the nonessential personnel had been evacuated when Greer joined him against the back wall.<p>

"So," Greer said quietly. "Where is he?"

"The bridge," Young murmured.

"_Why_?" Greer asked pointedly.

"You think he could handle this?" Young asked, breaking off as James and Barnes approached.

"Final sweep was clear," James said. "Everything on Wray's list is accounted for and packed up, ready to be sent through."

"Good," Young murmured.

"Eli's got all the kinos on search mode," Barnes said, "And rigged up to a feed so that homeworld command is getting video of the entire ship."

Young smiled faintly.

"Check in with Wray," he said. "If all the nonessential personnel are through, we can start transport of equipment."

They nodded and moved off.

"Yeah," Greer said quietly, watching TJ and Varro come through the door, bags over their shoulders. "This isn't really his kind of scene."

"Nope," Young replied, just as quietly.

"I'm gonna go get the cargo set up," Greer said, his eyes lingering on TJ before he turned and headed over toward Wray.

Young watched TJ scan the room, the lights glinting predictably, beautifully, off her hair until finally, she turned her head to her right and saw him, standing only a few feet away.

"Hi," she said soundlessly.

He stepped forward, and wrapped his arms around her.

She hugged him back, and then pulled away.

He clasped hands with Varro.

TJ looked up at the ceiling and took a shaky breath, then lowered her eyes to meet his gaze, her expression composed.

"Tell him thank you," she said quietly. "And tell him that—I understand."

Young nodded. He watched them walk away together, dark silhouettes against the brightness of the gate as they paused at the event horizon to look back at him. First Varro, and then TJ vanished into the blue.

He watched the equipment go through the gate over the next twenty minutes, followed by James and Barnes and Atienza. He walked over to stand next to Wray.

"Who's left?" he asked her.

"Not many," she said quietly. "You, me, Greer, Scott, and the science team."

Young's eyes flicked over to take in Volker and Brody, who were standing together, at the monitor bank.

"Time to go, guys," he called.

They walked forward, bags over their shoulders.

"You sure?" Volker asked, "Something could come up, I mean—"

"We're good," Young said, smiling faintly.

"I kind of feel weird about—" Volker broke off. "Leaving this place. It just seems so—" he readjusted his bag.

"Sudden?" Young said dryly.

"So _wrong_," Volker corrected him quietly. "Weird as that sounds. It's kind of become home, you know?"

"Yeah," Young said. "I know what you mean."

"What's ah—" Brody broke off. "What's going to happen with you and Rush?"

"We worked something out," Young said. "Don't worry about it."

They looked at him skeptically.

"Guys," Young said shortly. "I _said_, don't worry about it."

"Heard _that_ one before," Volker murmured.

"Time to go," Wray said, as she came to stand at Young's shoulder, her heels echoing on the deck plating.

They nodded reluctantly, and went through the gate.

"Call the rest of them," Young said.

Wray nodded and spoke quietly into her radio.

* * *

><p>Chloe, Scott, and Park showed up together, bags over their shoulders. Chloe's chin was stubbornly angled up, her eyes wet.<p>

"We'll see you on the other side, sir." Though it hadn't been intended that way, there was more than a hint of a question in Scott's statement.

"Sure," Young said, not able to help the way his eyes slid away from Scott's. "Sure you will."

Scott nodded.

Chloe looked at Young, then back at Scott and Park.

"You guys go first," she said quietly. "I'll be right behind you."

Scott looked at her uncertainly, but at Young's nod, he turned and stepped through the gate.

"They're in the hydroponics lab," Park murmured. "All three of them. If you're looking."

"Thanks," Young said.

Park stepped toward the gate, but stopped just short of the event horizon and turned back. "I just want to say, just in case, just on the off-chance that I don't get another opportunity," she hesitated, looking at him. "That I always thought that you guys—that you did a good job."

Young nodded.

"Just—" Park said again, "Just a really fantastic job." She turned to look at Wray. "Everyone. All of you. All three of you."

Young nodded. Wray smiled.

"I tried to tell him that," Park whispered, "But he wouldn't let me. You know how he is. I think he knows, but—just tell him, for me, will you? At least he'll let you finish a sentence," she said, smiling wanly.

"Yeah," Young said shortly. "I'll tell him."

Park nodded, biting her lip before she whirled and stepped through the gate.

Young turned to look at Chloe.

She looked back at him.

"I'm so sorry," Young whispered hoarsely. "For everything you went through. For everything they did. It was _my_ fault that you—"

She stepped in, reaching up to wrap her arms around him in a hug.

"It's alright," she murmured into his shoulder. "Are you coming back?" The question was barely audible.

He shook his head once. He felt her nod, and her arms tightened around him before she let him go and she stepped back.

"I'm sorry I'm such a crier," she said, the words barely understandable. "It just makes everything harder."

Young shook his head. "Nah," he managed.

She nodded at him, running the edge of a sleeve over her face.

"Goodbye," she whispered.

He couldn't say anything so, instead, he reached out to squeeze her shoulder. Her hand came up to rest over his for a brief moment before they broke apart and she turned and walked through the gate, her head angled up, her shoulders set straight.

Young and Wray stood together in the empty gateroom.

"Everett," Wray said quietly, her eyes lingering at the place where Chloe had vanished.

"Camile," he replied.

She walked over to stand directly in front of him, her eyes red rimmed. "He can't leave," she whispered. "Can he?"

"No," Young said quietly. "He can't."

"I see," Wray said quietly. "I should have known."

"Nah," Young said. "We kept the whole thing pretty quiet."

"I'm surprised he's letting you stay," Camile said.

"Well," Young rubbed his jaw. "That's not really his decision to make, is it?"

"I suppose not." Wray gracefully tucked a stray lock of hair into place behind her ear. "But he has quite the track record when it comes to unilateral action." She gave him a sad half-smile.

Young smiled back at her. "You going to explain this to the SGC for me?"

"I'm sure," Wray's voice faded away to nothing, and she took a deep breath. "I'm sure that I'll come up with something."

"Go on," Young said quietly, indicating the gate with his eyes. "I'll make sure Greer and Eli get through okay."

"Alright," Wray whispered, picking up the bag that was resting near the gate. "You'll be in my thoughts," she said quietly. "Both of you."

"Thanks," Young said.

"Always," Wray whispered and vanished through the event horizon.

Young looked down at the list in his hand and checked her name off. He walked over to the bank of monitors near the door, and set down the clipboard. He took a seat, and pulled out his radio. The silence of the empty gateroom pressed down upon him.

"Eli," he said, broadcasting on a closed channel. "Drag them down here, will you?"

* * *

><p>He didn't have to wait long. Eli and Greer showed up with Rush in tow after less than five minutes.<p>

"Hey," Young said, his voice admirably steady.

"I'm staying," Greer said quietly, "Until the end."

"No you're not," Rush said dismissively, coming to stand next to Young, glancing down at the power flow distribution that was displayed on the monitor. "Because that's a fucking stupid idea. The gate could become unstable, there are going to be fluctuations in space-time which might necessitate shutting down the—"

"Yeah or what_ever_." Greer broke in. "The point is, you never know what might happen. You might find you need an extra pair of hands." He looked at Rush.

"No," Rush said shortly, looking Greer straight in the eye.

"I'm afraid not, sergeant," Young said. "That's an order."

Something about Greer's stance suggested he was considering refusal.

"We'll be _fine_," Rush said.

"Are you _sure_?" Greer asked, still looking intently at Rush, as if he were waiting for some kind of signal.

Rush cocked his head and gave Greer a pointed look. "Yes," he said quietly. "Quite sure. As we discussed."

/?/ Young sent in Rush's direction.

He got a wave of distracted reassurance in return.

Greer sighed, and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm going to miss you, Doc," he said.

"Yes well," Rush said, looking away. "I suspect that if I survive this, there's some chance that I'll miss you as well."

"Stay out of trouble. Don't unmake the universe or something."

"That's been taken off the table, I'm afraid," Rush said dryly, giving Greer a raw half-smile.

"See you on the other side, sir," Greer said quietly, nodding at him before he stepped through.

"Everyone's gone?" Eli asked.

"Yup," Young said, getting to his feet.

"Okay," Eli said. The word lingered uncomfortably in the air above them.

"Eli," Rush said, looking away. "We don't have all day."

"You're such a jerk," Eli whispered. "But I'll miss you anyway." He bent to pick up his bag and settled it over one shoulder before turning to Young. "Don't let him push you around," he said.

"I won't," Young replied, smiling faintly.

Eli extended a hand and Young grabbed it, then pulled him into a hug.

"I couldn't have done it without you," Young said, letting him go. "Any of it."

Eli nodded, biting his lip. He turned toward Rush.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"Well, good luck," Eli whispered finally, turning toward the open gate.

"Eli," Rush snapped.

"What?" he replied, half turning back.

"Your work is consistently flawless," Rush whispered, fixing Eli with the full force of his gaze. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Really?" The word was almost inaudible.

Rush nodded.

"Thanks," Eli said. "I think, um—" he broke off, his eyes fixed on Rush. "I think that if it wasn't for you—I wouldn't be who I am now. You know?"

Rush nodded again.

Eli turned and went through the gate.

* * *

><p>A short time later, they stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the open wormhole, looking at the blue-white glow of the event horizon. Young listened to the distressed swirl of Rush's thoughts, half absorbed with the information transfer, half opaque agitation.<p>

"Hey," Young said. "They'll be alright."

"Yes," Rush said absently. "Yes, I know they will."

"Something's bothering you," Young replied.

"Nothing's bothering me," Rush whispered, looking away. He took a deep breath, and Young felt the flow of his thoughts freeze into something hard and determined for a split second before the frenetic spiral reengaged.

"So—" Young said. "What now?"

"Well," Rush said. "We're about two hundred and fifty thousand kilometers away from the point at which space time will begin to warp, our phase will begin to flux, and incoming energy will begin to destabilize the structural integrity of the circuitry." He fixed Young with a searching look.

"So we should get going, then, is what you're saying?" Young asked mildly.

"Yes," Rush murmured.

Young gestured silently toward the door.

Rush didn't move.

"You're sure," the scientist said quietly, "That I can't convince you to go back?"

"Sorry, genius," Young whispered. "No dice."

Rush sighed.

"Thanks, by the way," Young said.

"For _what_?" Rush asked with a pained incredulity.

"For respecting my decision. For not making a forcefield and effectively shoving me through that gate."

"Believe me when I say," Rush whispered. "That I am quite familiar with the importance of personal agency, having had mine stripped from me in so many ways."

"Yeah," Young grimaced and looked away. "I get that."

Rush looked down at the deck plating, his thoughts a disorganized swirl of acute misery.

"Hey," Young said. "It's not that bad. In the grand scheme of things, we're in the black. Crew home, trapped people getting untrapped, fulfilling missions—" he broke off at the expression on Rush's face.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?" Rush whispered.

"I just want you know that it's okay," Young said, projecting as well as speaking, trying to calm the distressed flare of Rush's thoughts. "I don't want this—" he gestured vaguely at himself, "to be one of the things that holds you back."

"It won't," Rush said with some difficulty. A muscle in his cheek twitched slightly. "At least—not for the reasons you think it should."

"You've said something like that before." Young felt an abrupt surge of unease.

"Have I?" Rush asked. "I don't remember."

"You wouldn't," Young murmured.

Rush glanced at him with a faint smile. "It's still just me up here," he said, tapping the side of his temple with two fingers. "And speaking of which, would you mind—" Rush broke off, his expression fracturing into uncertainty, "Taking a look at—" he made a vague motion in the air around his temple. "See if there's anything left you can fix in a relatively time-efficient manner?"

"Yeah," Young said quietly. "You think it might help you pull this thing off?"

"Possibly," Rush murmured. "It's worth a try, anyway."

Young reached up, his thumb pressing gently against Rush's temple, his fingers tangling through the other man's hair.

"This is going to work better if we—" Young trailed off.

With an abrupt spike of misery that seemed to drive itself into Young's mind, Rush stepped forward.

Young pulled him in.

Rush kissed him, his mind a shrieking torrent of acute anxiety and distress. Young projected as much calm as he could into—

He felt the unmistakable sensation of a needle being jammed into his arm.

He shoved Rush away, unbalancing the other man entirely, sending him to the floor of the gateroom.

It was too late.

"God _damn it_," Young roared, dragging Rush back off the floor by the front of his jacket.

"You _bastard_," he said, the words nearly soundless as he yanked the syringe out of Rush's hand and threw it across the room. "I trusted you. All that fucking talk about _agency_? I TRUSTED you."

Rush looked at him, his expression tight and miserable and impossible to fully interpret. "Yes," he said, his hands extended in front of him, palms out. "I'm aware."

"I _trusted_ you." Young tried to shout, but whatever Rush had injected him with was working quickly. Too quickly.

Without saying anything, Rush stepped in to catch him as his knees buckled, controlling his fall to the floor in front of the open gate. The scientist knelt on the deck plating, his chest to Young's back, arms wrapped around him. Young's head rested on his shoulder.

In front of him, the gate lit up the room. It was all he could see.

"If you thought," Rush whispered, his voice cracking, "Even for a _moment_, that I would let you stay here and _die_, then you never really knew me at all."

Young clenched his jaw, as if somehow that could lock down the distress that tore at every part of him.

"Don't pull it forward," Rush said, barely able to speak. "You'll be alright if you don't pull it forward."

Young felt the other man's hands fist into his jacket.

His thoughts spiraled into a familiar, distressed shriek at the thought of the scientist alone, attempting something nearly impossible—locked to a piece of metal as it was torn apart.

"It's alright," Rush said, picking up on his thoughts of death and destruction. One hand came up to run through Young's hair. "It won't be like that." His voice was calm and assured, but there was nothing in his words or tone that Young could trust.

"You're a lot of work," Young managed, wishing he could see the scientist's face.

"And what's work, anyway?" Rush murmured into his hair. "Just force, applied over a distance. Nothing so difficult about that."

Young couldn't speak. His throat was closing.

"If I make it," Rush whispered. "I'll try to let you know."

/How can you _do_ this?/ The projection was tortured, warped by the distress that now had no physical outlet.

"How can I _not_?" Rush murmured, his voice wavering. "You'll be all right, eventually."

/I'll never forgive you for this,/ Young managed to project past the despair that weighed down every turn of his thoughts.

/"Yes, I know,"/ Rush whispered back, blending their thoughts together into one bright, tangled mass of misery laced with guilt and relief. /"I know."/

Despite Young's best efforts, sensation and conscious thought slipped away from him until he was left with nothing except the familiar feel of Rush's thoughts against his own.

In the end, even that faded.


	48. Chapter 48

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes:** Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews, guys! This is still not the end. Hang in there. This chapter has been revised for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p>When he came back to consciousness the first time, all the space that defined his mind, every pathway and trajectory made and taken by his thoughts was trafficked by nothing except agony. There was no space for anything else.<p>

* * *

><p>When he came back to consciousness the second time, he was able to open his eyes. He was able to identify TJ, her head resting on her arms, slumped forward over the edge of his bed, a blanket over her shoulders. In some other part of the room, he could hear quiet clicks of plastic against cardboard.<p>

"Check," he heard Eli say quietly.

"Whatever," Chloe whispered. "I don't feel like playing anyway."

His mind felt like it had been torn apart. In a way, it had been.

He shut his eyes.

* * *

><p>The third time he woke, Greer was sitting next to him.<p>

"Hey," Greer whispered.

"You knew," Young whispered, his voice dry and cracked.

"No," Greer said. "Not exactly. I—"

"Get out," Young hissed.

"I—"

"Get. _Out_."

"I'll send TJ in," Greer said.

"Don't bother," Young snapped.

* * *

><p>On the fourth day after the crew returned from Destiny, Young woke up to find sunlight streaming into a small, white hospital room. Outside, he could see a parking lot. In the distance, if he squinted, he could make out the jagged cut of the Rocky Mountains rising distantly behind the cars. The preceding days tangled together in his mind. He didn't bother trying to untwist and order his thoughts.<p>

"Everett."

Wray was sitting next to him.

"Camile," he said, looking back at her.

"Hi," she said, her voice wavering.

He sat forward, his fingers tangling through his hair, the heels of his hands pressing against his temples.

"Do you know where you are?" she asked, utterly still next to the side of his hospital bed. If his sudden movement had startled her, it didn't show.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I know."

Wray nodded and pressed her lips together, shutting her eyes.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke.

"They don't understand what happened to you," Wray whispered. "Or why we returned so abruptly. There's going to be an inquiry." She paused. "There are going to be several."

Young said nothing.

"I'll do what I can," Wray whispered, sitting forward. "I'll do _everything_ I can to—"

"Why are you here, Camile?" Young asked. "Go home. Go be with your family."

"Everyone is here," she whispered. "Under quarantine for a few days while they check our blood work. They've blocked off an entire hospital wing for us—the medical facilities at the base weren't really—well. Everyone wanted to be out. Back in the real world, and I guess General O'Neill pulled some strings."

"For how long?" Young asked.

"One more day," Wray whispered. "But they're talking about keeping you longer."

"Are they."

"You were entirely unresponsive for two days. Far longer than whatever it was he drugged you with stayed in your system."

Young nodded, barely able to tolerate even a peripheral reference to Rush.

Wray edged forward in her chair, resting her forearms against his mattress. "No one has told them," she whispered. "That you and he were linked. I know. Greer and TJ know. Scott knows. The science team knows. But no one has said anything."

"Telford knows," Young whispered.

"He hasn't said anything either," Wray murmured.

"It will come out," Young said.

"Maybe," Wray replied.

They were silent for a moment, and Wray moved from the chair to sit next to him on the bed.

"Do you know?" she whispered, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. "What happened to him?"

"No," Young could barely speak the word. "Do you?"

"No," Wray said. "Eli is going through the data that we got through the open wormhole," she whispered.

"Ah," Young said.

"But we know that he was successful in getting Ginn and Mandy and Jeremy out of the memory banks," Wray said. "Ginn came through the gate. She's here. She's helping Eli go through the data."

"Good."

"The other two—they came through the gate as well, but—they didn't stay."

Young nodded.

"There's something else you should know," Wray murmured. "There's some kino footage—"

Young shook his head.

"At the end, Eli put all the kinos into search mode and they—I just—" Wray murmured. "I just wanted you to be aware. Someone might—" she waved a hand. "Mention it."

"Yeah," Young said. "Thanks."

"Eli has the footage," Wray whispered. "If you ever want to—"

"Yeah," Young said. "Yeah, okay."

They were silent for a minute.

"Do you want to talk about—anything?" Wray asked.

"No," Young said.

Wray nodded. "Is there anything I can do?" she whispered.

"I could use some clothes," Young said.

"Right," Wray murmured. "Of course. TJ brought some by for you. Early on." She slipped off the bed and bent down to gather up the fatigues that had been left at the base of his nightstand before carefully placing them on the mattress.

For the first time, Young noted that Wray was wearing fatigues as well.

"New cut," she said almost soundlessly, her hands smoothing down the material. "But still black."

"Yeah," Young said quietly.

"Dr. Mackenzie, from psychiatry, is going to come talk to you this afternoon," Wray said.

"To clear me for duty?" Young asked, still trying to massage away the ache in his temples that wouldn't leave him.

"No," Wray said gently. "No, I don't think so."

Young nodded and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Wray took a step back.

"I'm not sure you should be getting up," she murmured.

He stood, unsteady for a moment, one hand fisting into the sheets of his bed, the other holding his hospital gown shut. Wray had a hand on his arm. As if she could help him. Slowly, he pulled away from her, but she shadowed his steps as he made his way, barefoot, across the tile floor to the bathroom.

"I can—" she said.

"No thanks," he replied, closing the door.

He placed the clothing Wray had given him on the low counter in front of the mirror.

He held himself steady, gripping the edge of the sink, where the white of the porcelain met the tan of some poorly defined waterproof counter-covering material that he couldn't put a name to. He looked at his reflection. He looked away.

The fabric of the clothing was stiff and new under his fingers. He found the socks. He pulled them on one at a time, bracing his hip against the wall to keep his balance. He unfolded and put on the underwear. The standard issue black cotton undershirt he pulled over his head and drew down.

He held himself steady, gripping the edge of the sink.

The pants he shook out in a slow unfurl before he stepped into them, the fabric scraping its way over his skin as he pulled them up and fastened them. They were looser than they should have been. He unfolded the jacket, slow and stepwise, before carefully pulling down on the zipper, separating metal teeth with a barely perceptible almost endless sequence of resistance and release. He put on the jacket.

He held himself steady, gripping the edge of the sink.

He reached over, flinching at the sharp sound of plastic-wrap deforming beneath his fingers. He opened a small toothbrush, and he brushed his teeth. He ran his fingers through his hair. He was going to need to borrow a razor.

He gripped the edge of the sink and dropped his head forward, not bothering to fight the weight of the headache that pressed down upon him.

"Come on," he whispered, but whether he was talking to himself or someone else was not clear. Even to him.

There was a soft knock on the door and Young opened it.

"Do you need any help?" Wray asked him.

"No," Young said. "I'm fine."

* * *

><p>The morning and early afternoon passed by in a blur of Wray giving way to Scott, who gave way to Dr. Mackenzie when he showed up around 1400 hours.<p>

"I was confidentially briefed by Colonel Carter," Mackenzie said, after he took a seat at Young's bedside.

"Oh yeah?" Young asked, trying to force his demeanor into something that approached normal.

Mackenzie nodded. "I also talked to Dr. McKay before coming to see you. They share an interesting theory."

"And what theory would that be?" Young asked politely.

"They believe that the two days you spent entirely unresponsive is explained because you either had some kind of mental interface with the ship that you left behind, or—"

"Nope," Young said.

"_Or_," Mackenzie finished, "That you had some kind of mental connection to the late Dr. Nicholas Rush."

Young tried to hold onto his neutral facial expression but knew that he wasn't _quite_ managing it.

"You've been talking to me for what," Young asked. "Less than thirty seconds? And already you've attempted force me into a choice between a false dichotomy out of pure rhetorical _laziness_. Which is something that—" he broke off, pressing a hand to his head and pulling it away again just as abruptly. "Whatever. Proceed. Continue."

He took a deep breath, trying to focus, trying to calm the _fuck_ down, trying not to pull something forward that he was never, _never_ going to be able to force back down.

"Why don't you start by telling me about him?" Mackenzie said.

"Why don't _you_ start by telling me the purpose of this session?" Young snapped.

Not good. He took another deep breath.

"The purpose of this session is to evaluate your ability to tolerate a full psych eval." Mackenzie said mildly. "You suffered a significant neurologic event. Your EEG patterns have deviated significantly from the baseline we have on file and—"

"Just give me the psych eval. I guarantee you I'll tolerate it just fine."

That was better. That was something he would say. That _he_, _himself_ would say.

Mackenzie said nothing for several seconds. Then he said. "Tell me about Dr. Rush."

"What do you want to know?" Young asked, looking out the window, past the parking lot, to the mountains.

"Anything."

"Well," Young said, trying to keep his tone even, "He was an arrogant, deceptive, untrustworthy son of a bitch."

Mackenzie said nothing.

Young said nothing.

"He was instrumental in the return of your crew to earth," Mackenzie commented.

"Yeah," Young said. "I noticed that."

"I was briefed that you came through the gate last," Mackenzie said. "And that you were unconscious at the time."

"Yes," Young said, biting back an acidic comment. "I noticed that too."

"What happened on the ship?" Mackenzie asked. "Before you came through the gate?"

"He drugged me," Young said.

"Why would he do that?" Mackenzie asked.

"To force me to leave," Young said.

"To save your life?" Mackenzie asked.

"Yes," Young said.

"And how do you feel about that?" Mackenzie asked.

"Fine," Young said carefully. "Good. Grateful."

Mackenzie looked at him.

Young looked away.

"Grateful," Mackenzie said, narrowing his eyes. "Really."

"Yeah," Young said.

"Things are going to go much better for you if you're honest."

"Why wouldn't I be grateful?" Young said. "After all, I'm alive, aren't I?"

Mackenzie looked at him evenly, saying nothing. Young looked right back at him, waiting him out.

"Are you having any thoughts of hurting yourself?" Mackenzie asked, point blank.

"No," Young said.

"Why did you stay on the ship?" Mackenzie asked. "Why didn't you come back with the others? Why did he have to _force_ you to leave?"

Young looked at him incredulously. "You think I have some kind of death wish? I _stayed_," Young said, "Because he was permanently locked to that ship, and we do not leave people behind."

"So you stayed for him," Mackenzie said.

"I stayed because it was the right thing to do," Young clarified carefully.

"I see."

For a moment, they were quiet.

"Did you have some kind of connection to him?" Mackenzie asked. "Did something happen to alter your mind?"

"Do you really think," Young asked, "That if that were the case, he would have been able to surprise me enough to take me down?"

"That's not an answer," Mackenzie said.

"Your question was vague," Young snapped.

Mackenzie gave him a tight smile. "Most of them are," he said. "That's the idea."

"So are you going to give me this psych eval or what?" Young asked.

"Not today," Mackenzie said.

"I want someone different," Young snapped. "Not you. Weren't you the one who mistook an alien influence for late-break psychosis and had Dr. Jackson _committed_?"

"There's a bit of a learning curve when it comes to the SGC," Mackenzie said neutrally. "But, really it doesn't matter who administers the test. Based on our interaction today, I can already tell you the outcome. You're going to pass. But you shouldn't."

Young raised his eyebrows.

"I'm mandating weekly followup," Mackenzie said. "And you're not cleared for active duty, even after you pass the psych eval."

"You don't have the authority for that," Young snapped.

"Of course I do," Mackenzie said.

* * *

><p>They held him for a week, and when they finally released him, it was Greer who drove him to the apartment that Wray had found and furnished for him. Greer, who didn't talk, except for when it was necessary; Greer, who dropped him off and went to the local Stop and Shop and picked up ten days worth of frozen dinners and a six-pack of beer, and who came back and drank it with him. Greer who sat on his couch with him, in the dark, without turning on any lights as the sun set over the Rockies.<p>

"So," Young said, finally, watching the red light that backlit the mountains fade into darkness. "What are you going to do?"

"SG-2," Greer said.

"No shit," Young said.

"Yeah," Greer said.

"How did that happen?"

Greer shrugged the movement almost invisible in the growing dark.

"Don't give me that," Young said. "You need multiple recs for that kind of thing."

"I had three," Greer said.

"I didn't write one," Young murmured. "Though I would have, if you'd told me you wanted it."

"Yeah," Greer said. "I know. I—"

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Greer."

Greer sighed, and took a sip of his second beer. "Telford put me up for it."

"_Telford_."

"Yeah," Greer said, his voice unsteady. "I didn't even know I was in the running—hell, I didn't even know there was a spot _available_ until after they told me that I had it."

"Telford despises you," Young said.

"I know," Greer said again, his voice barely audible. "I saw him. Two days ago. I asked him why."

"What did he say." It wasn't really a question. He already knew the answer.

"He did it," Greer said quietly, "Because Rush asked him to."

Young shut his eyes. After a few moments he said, "He couldn't have possibly _specified_ SG-2."

"No," Greer said. "I don't think he did. I think he just sort of generally asked Telford to help me out."

"And Telford got you _SG-2_?"

"Yeah," Greer said. "Telford went to Wray, and got a rec from her."

"And who was the third?" Young asked.

"The third rec," Greer said, pausing reluctantly, "was Rush."

"Right," Young said. "Of course it was. He really fucking planned everything out."

Greer said nothing.

Young said nothing.

"I don't know if you've heard this yet or not," Greer said quietly, "But he sent some things through the gate after—" Greer took another swallow of beer. "After you came through."

"What kind of things?" Young asked.

"Different kinds of things," Greer whispered. "All tied together with a bootlace and labeled. There was a letter about Chloe addressed to the head of UC Berkeley's math department. It was three pages long and it—it included some of her work." Greer paused. "He sent one of his little notebooks through, tagged for Eli, and I guess it just had some random stuff in it, that he thought Eli should know, or would like, or whatever. Like about Ancient computer code and stuff like that. He um—" Greer broke off again, pressing a closed fist against his mouth. "He actually um, wrote letters for everyone on the science team, describing I guess, things that they had done, so that, if they wanted to leave the SGC, or if they wanted to stay—they would—well, they would have something, I guess, to take with them. I read the one he wrote for Lisa," Greer whispered. "It was really—" Greer trailed off into nothing.

"Yeah," Young said. "He liked her."

"Yeah," Greer said. "She, um, she didn't really know that."

"Anything else?" Young asked.

"A personal letter to Wray," Greer said. "And that was all."

"I see," Young said.

Greer said nothing.

The sun had dipped below the horizon. The waning moon began to rise.

"He really—" Greer began.

"He _what_," Young half-snarled.

"He cared about you," Greer said. "I know he did."

"How could _you_ possibly know that?" Young hissed. "When _I_, who was fucking linked to his _fucking_ head, have _no idea_ whether he gave a damn about me or not?"

"I know," Greer said quietly. "I _know_ he did."

They were quiet for a moment. The moon began its slow rise over the mountains.

"He should have let me stay," Young whispered.

"He wanted you to live," Greer whispered back.

"This is no kind of life."

"He could still come back."

Young released a shuddery breath. "You think so?"

"Yeah," Greer said. "I talked to that cultural sensitivity guy. Dr. Jackson. I asked him. He said he didn't really know, but that he thinks maybe time flows differently? Anyway, I guess both times Jackson ascended, he didn't come back in any kind of predictable way. He said we shouldn't make too much of the fact we haven't heard anything. It's early days yet."

"Yeah?" Young asked.

"Yeah." Greer finished his beer and opened another. "Besides. How many times have we counted him out, and then he shows up with that whole smart-ass thing he has going?"

Young said nothing.

"So many times," Greer said.

Young said nothing.

Greer said nothing.

The moon lifted itself clear of the mountains.

"He told me he would try," Greer whispered.

Young said nothing.

Several minutes passed.

"He promised me," Greer said.

Young said nothing.

* * *

><p>Two weeks later, hours after Mackenzie had finally cleared him for active duty, Young sat in General Landry's office at the SGC.<p>

"And _then_," Landry said, "He proceeds to tell the _entire_ Tok'ra delegation that not only is the intel they provided us with somehow inconsistent with the laws of theoretical physics, he actually _hacks_ into their security system in real time, _in the briefing_, to map out data transmission vs. location and thereby identifies their security leak." The general shook his head. "I didn't know whether to reprimand him or promote him right there. It worked like a god damn charm though—the Tok'ra ate it up. They actually made us an offer for him, if you can believe it. I refused though."

"Sounds like Eli," Young said, raising his eyebrows.

"That boy is a treasure," Landry said. "You know I'm thinking of putting him on SG-3? A spot just opened up on the civilian side of things, and SG-3 is really one of the only earth based teams that's _not_ bogged down in this Orai business—be glad you missed that—it was not a good time."

"Right," Young said. "About my reassignment—"

"Your reassignment," Landry said. "Yes, let me see." The other man made a show of flipping through Young's personnel file. "Pending the resolution of a complaint lodged against you by Colonel Telford for unjust and prolonged imprisonment, and the resolution of the two charges that _you_ filed against _him_," Landry looked up, fixing Young with a sharp gaze, "You're going to be reassigned to Atlantis."

"Atlantis," Young repeated.

"Sheppard," Landry said in his low, gravelly voice, "Is the only person willing to take you after this whole fiasco."

"Fiasco," Young repeated.

"Well, sure," Landry said, his gravelly voice not unfriendly. "You brought everyone home safe, and we acquired another Ancient database, not to mention transmission of data which, once analyzed may actually turn out to hold the key to some basic understanding of the physics of ascension but—you have to understand that you basically presided over the destruction of one of the most important discoveries that humankind has made since the stargate itself so—" Landry opened his hands. "You're not a popular guy right now."

"Right," Young said. "Atlantis."

"You'll be replacing Major Lorne as Sheppard's number two, pending resolution of the disputes between you and Colonel Telford." Landry handed over a file containing the details of Young's assignment. "We'll be in touch in terms of a start date," Landry said.

Young looked at him.

"Dismissed," Landry said.

Young tucked the file underneath one arm and stood, exiting Landry's office. It was only after he'd passed the secretary's desk and gone several steps into the hall that he realized he'd forgotten to salute.

He had made his way to the elevator that led to the ground-level parking lot when he rounded a corner to find himself face to face with David Telford in the company of Colonel Carter, who was animatedly trying to explain something to him that seemed, from the few phrases Young picked up, like it had something to do with hyperdrive technology.

Telford stopped short as he came face to face with Young, surprise flitting briefly across his features.

They locked eyes.

Without hesitating, Young stepped in and punched him, once, hard across the mouth, knocking him back into Carter, who steadied him.

"What the _hell_?" Carter yelled.

Telford looked at Young, and said nothing, one hand coming to his mouth.

Young stepped in, his face inches from Telford's.

"And you want to know what?" Young said conversationally, "That wasn't even for him. That was for _her_. For _Gloria_."

Telford looked away.

Young turned on his heel, and continued on, toward the elevators.

"Colonel," Carter snapped. "Colonel _Young_."

"Let it go, Sam," he heard Telford say, his voice low. "Just—let it go."

* * *

><p>Three weeks after he returned to earth was the first time it happened.<p>

He was prepping for his upcoming assignment, by reading mission reports alone in his apartment, the only light in the unfamiliar room provided by his desk lamp.

"—_at which point Colonel Sheppard engaged the locals in conversation while I first deciphered and then interfaced with the control panel in order to recover information left by the original architects of the city. In short order I discovered that the hardware was a fusion of Ancient and endogenous tech, likely the work of the fraction of the population that survived the first culling. Though my perusal of their database was necessarily limited, as I was trying to find a means of cutting power to the communications array I did find the following items of note: 1) Identification of local anisotropy and acceptance of a modified form of the FLRW metric, in which the spatial component of the metric __was not time dependent__._

Young stopped reading and frowned, searching absently though his stack of papers for the pen he knew was somewhere beneath them. After only a few seconds he pulled it out and flipped the file folder over. For a moment, he held the pen delicately between his teeth, then pulled it out and wrote the equation describing the FLRW metric.

-(c^2)d(tau^2)= -(c^2)d(t^2) + a(t)^2d(sigma^2)

He boxed it.

He looked at it.

He pulled out the two time-dependent terms and started to work with them, replacing variables, redefining the problem in terms of spatial curvature, redefining it for reduced-circumference polar coordinates, redefining it for hyperspherical coordinates—

He didn't stop until every piece of readily available paper was covered with the loose, effortless flow of math. He didn't stop until the sun began to lighten the windows, until the strange, all-consuming mental energy finally loosened its grip and left him, sitting exhausted at his desk, surrounded by the carnage of Einstein's field equations and the shreds of an incorrect model of physical cosmology.

He pressed the heels of both hands against his eyes, trying to force away the headache that he suspected would never leave him.

He looked down at the mathematically-defaced file, wondering how he was going to explain this when he had to turn the classified document back in to Walter Harriman. Wondering if it even really mattered.

He capped his pen.

He shut his eyes, leaning his head against one hand.

"Nick," he said.

No one answered.

* * *

><p>"Tell me about your dreams," Mackenzie said.<p>

"They're normal," Young said.

"Normal," Mackenzie repeated, neutrally. "And what is 'normal' for you?"

"Oh," Young said, casually, "Most of the time I don't remember them, or they're nonsensical. Occasionally I'll dream about a combat situation on earth or on Destiny."

_Every night it is exactly the same. He stands in front of the gate, with an unreadable expression and when he turns, the entire ship lights up, like it never has. Every light is on, every door comes open. _

"Any recurring dreams?" Mackenzie asked.

_The shields sing. When he walks down the long hallway that leads to the chair room, his gait and his bearing suggest that he is entirely unafraid. _

"No," Young said casually. "No, not really."

_The AI is not with him, and Young wonders what that means. But he thinks he knows. The AI would never, _never_ have left him alone._

"Sometimes," Mackenzie said, "I get the feeling that you're not really making an effort."

"Really," Young said.

"And I think that could be for a lot of reasons," Mackenzie said. "Far be it from me to pigeonhole you into a false dichotomy, but my feeling is it's because either you place absolutely no value on this kind of therapeutic intervention, or, you don't want to let go of what is bothering you."

Young raised his eyebrows. "What makes you say that?"

"You _will not talk about him_," Mackenzie said. "Even though he altered you in such a profound way that your EEG is different. That your MMPI score has changed. I can't imagine that your dreams haven't been altered as well."

Young looked at him evenly across the broad oaken desk that separated them.

"A terrible thing happened to you," Mackenzie said quietly. "And I'm not even sure if you _recognize_ that."

Young tried to hang onto his neutral facial expression, tried to take everything about the statement that bothered him and turn it into an offensive.

"You asked me about _my _dreams, but what you really want to hear about are _his_ dreams," Young said, with a smooth cadence that seemed to come from the emptiness at the back of his mind. "_His_ dreams. That _I _have."

"Yes," Mackenzie said evenly.

"Alright," Young said. "Fine. I can do that."

He paused, and took a deep breath, hanging onto the veneer of calm that he had managed to spread thinly over a seething darkness.

"He's in a tank. A tank of ionized water that's probably something like fifteen degrees centigrade. Why fucking _ionized_ and why fucking _cold_ you ask? Well, the reason for that is that the cold slows down metabolic processes which, in turn, decreases tissue damage and makes it difficult to _think_ which brings us to the question of why ionized water, the answer to which is that it's an excellent conductor and allows for the amplification of input and the amplification and dispersal of cognitive output, in the form of electromagnetic waves so it's really the perfect containment vessel for prolonged, neurologically damaging, telepathically mediated _torture_. Which is what they do. For hours. For _days_. For so long he can barely understand who he is anymore, or what they're doing, the only thing he knows is that he has given them nothing they want, and he will continue to proceed in such a manner, allowing them full access to every element of his mind that is capable of emotionally damaging him but giving them _nothing_ of Destiny, _none _of his tactically relevant knowledge. He resists increasingly complicated simulated scenarios designed to upset him, to confuse him, to convince him to give up the information he manages to protect from them, to _hide_ from them by disrupting his own cognitive processes. He can't keep them out, you understand? He can only keep ahead of them. And he does. For _days_, like I said. And you know what happens? Over the course of those days? Despite the fact that his mind, the way he thinks, is fracturing apart and he's becoming _so_. _Fucking_. _Tired_. He still, _still_ stays ahead of them, and not _just_ ahead of them. He starts to pull away. He regains more and more control. He finds he can fight them. He finds he can control his own movements. And that's where the dream picks up. The point where he regains control."

Young stopped, and made an effort to unclench his fists.

"What does he do?" Mackenzie asked.

"He reaches up," Young said, "And he pulls the breathing apparatus off his face and he inhales the water. He presses his hands against the glass and he looks out at them and he tries to bury his panic and his fear of the water and the urge to struggle and instead, through the transmitter attached to his head, he broadcasts as much utter _spite_ as he can throw at them. And they—he can _feel_ that they're afraid of him. _They_ are afraid of _him_, a delicate, ephemeral, _dying_ thing that they _do not understand_."

"What happens then?"

Young sat back, looking out the window. "That's it. That's the dream. He passes out from lack of oxygen and presumably they get him out and are able to resuscitate him and then torture him some more."

Mackenzie said nothing.

Young said nothing.

"How many of the dreams that you have come from him?" Mackenzie asked finally.

"At least half," Young said.

"Ah," Mackenzie said. "Are they all like that?" he asked. "Like the one you just described?"

"No," Young said. "Some of them are worse."

"Ah," Mackenzie said delicately. "That must be difficult."

Young said nothing.

"I was granted access to the mission reports from Destiny," Mackenzie said.

Young raised his eyebrows.

"I read about the events that led to his capture by the Nakai," Mackenzie said delicately. "Apparently, there was a rock slide when the two of you were on a planet together?"

Young said nothing.

"And you believed he hadn't survived."

Young said nothing.

"But he had. And he was subsequently found by the Nakai, resulting in the torture that you described. Resulting in the implantation of a transmitter next to his heart."

Young said nothing.

"How do you feel about that?" Mackenzie asked.

"I'm done here."

Young left the room.


	49. Chapter 49

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Fan art for this chapter:** I want to give the fabulous sacredclay another shoutout for more FoD art. You can find it at her deviantart account where she is listed as katkat24.

**Special note:** Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews, guys (and shoutout to Demeraude for reading my mind)! This chapter was the first chapter of FoD that was ever written, and it is from this that the entire preceding work came. The structure of this chapter is partially prefigured in chapter 38, if you're interested in comparing it to the battle with the Nakai construct. After reading this chapter, please proceed to the oneshot "What goes Undelivered." This chapter has been edited for typos and formatting.

* * *

><p><strong>March<strong>

He stood on sun-drenched pavement, just outside the Cheyenne Mountain base. The ground near the road was covered with a few inches of icy snow, through which crocuses had just begun to open. He extended the toe of one boot, absently crushing the edge of ice that formed where snow met pavement. The sun was bright and cold and glared off the snow-covered hillside. A brisk wind periodically snapped at the material of his jacket.

Young reached into his pocket, pulled out a pair of sunglasses and put them on.

This was a bad idea.

He crossed his arms, trying to think of nothing. Trying to think of ice. Trying _not _to think of ice. Trying to think of anything other than the emptiness in his mind and the restless energy in his hands.

"If you ascended," he whispered into the cold air, "Now would be a good time to let me know."

The wind rushed in his ears.

"No one's around," Young murmured. "I'll never breathe a word of it. To anyone. I just want to know. You owe me that. At _least_ that, you bastard."

He stood, silent, for nearly five minutes.

"Well," he said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one with some difficulty against the wind. "Fuck you anyway, genius."

He smoked his cigarette.

Behind him, he heard the sound of someone clearing his throat. He spun abruptly to see the familiar silhouette of Dr. Jackson, dressed in black fatigues, backlit against the pale sky.

Young flinched.

"Hi," Jackson said. "I'm not sure if you remember me—we've only met a few times." Young couldn't help the incredulous, humorless laugh.

"_Remember you_?" Young repeated.

"Yeah," Daniel said quietly. "I'm Daniel Jackson."

"I know who you are," Young said quietly. "_Everyone_ knows who you are."

"Oh. Well. Good. That's good." Daniel looked like he had no idea what to do with his hands.

They were silent for a moment and Jackson slipped on his own pair of sunglasses.

"What do you want?" Young growled.

"Nothing," Daniel said quietly. "I don't want anything. I just thought you might want to talk. That's all."

"Nope," Young said, flicking his cigarette onto the pavement and grinding it out with his boot.

"Yeah," Daniel said. "I can see that."

An awkward silence descended.

"I heard that you had some kind of connection to him," Daniel murmured. "That's what Jack said."

"Yeah," Young said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I heard that you were turned into a prior for the Ori."

Daniel looked away. "Yeah," he said finally.

They stood there in silence for the span of three minutes.

"Well," Daniel said, "I guess I'll see you around." He turned and began to walk back toward the base.

"Hey," Young called after him. "Jackson."

Daniel stopped and half turned toward Young.

"How well did you know him?" Young asked.

"Well enough," Daniel said, his expression pained.

* * *

><p><strong>April<strong>

"You'll like the Athosians," Sheppard said to him when they were planetside on Young's second mission. "They're a really friendly people." His tone and his posture were relaxed, but his eyes were watchful.

The sky above them was a clear, pale blue.

"Yup. _Remarkably_ friendly, actually," Sheppard said after an empty pause.

"Great," Young said, his hand on his assault rifle, his eyes sweeping the trees.

"Just—ah, so you know," Sheppard continued, clearly uncomfortable, "I really feel kind of, I don't know," he grimaced and cocked his head fractionally. "_Weird_ about this."

Young smiled faintly. "Yeah, I get that. I would too, if the situation was reversed."

"I read the mission reports from Destiny," Sheppard said.

"Yeah," Young said, trying to suppress an acute spike of distress out of pure habit. But there was no need. There was no one in his mind to shield from that kind of thing.

"Seems like," Sheppard said, pausing to step over a small stream that split the ground in front of them, "You did a pretty commendable job."

"Maybe," Young said. "Even in retrospect, I'm not sure about that."

"It's so easy," Sheppard said, pausing again, like he couldn't quite get across what he wanted to say, "To look at these things from the outside and make judgments."

Young thought he might continue, but he didn't.

"Yeah," Young said, looking out across the meadowed surface of the planet, covered intermittently with some kind of flowering shrub that looked like lilac.

"Yeah," Sheppard said.

They waited in silence for McKay to finish downloading data from a concealed sensor relay. Sheppard fidgeted, his eyes still on the horizon, his hands moving restlessly to his rifle, to run through his hair, to checking his pockets.

"If there's anything that you—" Sheppard paused, "You want to talk about—" he trailed off.

"I'm good," Young said.

"Okay," Sheppard said.

They stood in silence until they saw McKay break the cover of the trees and head toward them at a quick jog.

"Hmm," Sheppard said, watching him. After only a few seconds, he unclipped his radio and spoke into it.

"McKay," he said. "You're _running_. And where's Teyla?"

He got no response, other than the hiss of static.

"Was that an open channel?" Young asked with a frown. "I didn't pick that up."

"Yeah," Sheppard said. He stopped fidgeting and everything about him except his tone of voice sharpened. "Let's go."

It took them less than a minute to close the distance between their position and McKay's, their feet falling nearly silently on the springy turf of the meadow, the only sound was the scrape of low branches past their uniforms.

"McKay," Sheppard called when they were in earshot. "What's with the radios?"

"I don't _know_," McKay called back as the distance between them faded down to nothing and they regrouped. "But they were working when we got here and they're not _now_, which, frankly I find disturbing in a kind of acute run-for-your-life sort of way, and on a _related note_, ground based sensors picked up a _fleet_ that dropped into orbit three days ago and stayed for _twelve hours_ before—"

"Where's Teyla?" Sheppard snapped.

"She went ahead to the settlement."

"_Alone_?" Sheppard ducked down behind one of the low, lilac-like hedges, dragging McKay down as well, one hand fisted in the other man's jacket. Young followed suit, scanning the horizon entirely before dropping into a crouch. The back of his neck prickled.

"And you wanted me to do what, exactly," McKay hissed, "Tie her up to stop her? Go with her and leave you two standing in the _open_ without cover? There could still be—"

"I _know_ that, Rodney, I was just _asking_."

"Well I have to say, you were asking in a very accusatory manner and I—"

"What else?" Sheppard snapped.

"Like I said. Three days ago, fleet drops out, stays for twelve hours, and then our sensor array gets destroyed or disabled, I don't know which, but the data cuts out at that point."

"What about small ship to ground vessels?" Young asked, "Indicating an assault?"

"Um, hi. Our computer system is out? Did I not make that clear? Assessment of ship-to-ground traffic requires pulse-doppler signal processing and I can't do FFTs in my _head_."

Sheppard rolled his eyes.

"You always were terrible at fourier transformations," Young said absently.

"_What _did you just say?" Rodney hissed. "Did _Nick_ tell you that? He's _such_ an asshole. It was just the one time that—" McKay broke off. He looked down and then uncertainly back at Young. "Anyway, I don't know. I couldn't tell about small, ship-to-ground vessels. I had only the raw data."

Young nodded.

"Let's move _out_, please," Sheppard said edgily.

They crept back toward the treeline, the way McKay had come. They were nearly there, when they heard the unmistakable sound of a single p90 firing from somewhere within the forest, interspersed with the discharge of another kind of projectile based weapon.

"That sounds like _Genii_ tech," Sheppard murmured.

Sheppard picked up his pace, breaking cover. It was a reasonable course of action—there had been no sign of pursuit or tracking of their position; they had waited, in the open for McKay for almost _twenty_ minutes without a sign of trouble. Nevertheless, Young had a bad feeling as he watched the other man in profile, standing against the washed-out sky. McKay followed suit.

Young shoved down the anxiety that swirled in the back of his mind and stood, increasing his pace as well, half turning to let his gaze sweep their six.

A quick flash of movement—of darkness where light should have filtered through the gaps between branches of alien lilac—

"Get _down_," he shouted to Sheppard, and the quiet air burst into the familiar sound of gunfire.

With an extra burst of energy, Young used all of his forward momentum to crash into McKay, tackling him to the ground behind the limited cover of a hedge exploding in small purple flowers.

"_Stay _down," he snarled at McKay, who was trying to do something that Young couldn't quite get a handle on.

Around them, shots hit the ground and vanished into the springy underbrush like they had never been.

Pain unfurled, spreading and tearing its way through his chest, through his leg, in a vicious, slow flowering.

"Oh shit," McKay whispered. "Oh _shit_."

McKay leaned over him, his hands pressing down hard against Young's chest. "It's going to be fine," McKay said, looking like he thought it was _anything_ but 'fine'. He turned his head away; his gaze directed over his shoulder.

"John," he hissed into the lilacs, trying not to give away their position while he also tried to prevent Young from bleeding out. "_John_."

"Just go," Young said.

"I'm going to do you a personal favor," McKay replied, and even though his tone was sardonic, his eyes were intent and sad and the same color as the sky. "And I'm not going to tell anyone you said that. You just hang on, alright?"

Young said nothing.

* * *

><p><strong>May<strong>

It was Memorial Day and flags, placed by the boy scouts, snapped in the breeze.

After Greer drove him in to the SGC, Young made his way painfully down to the infirmary, still leaning on his cane. He limped through the doors to find the place apparently deserted. He rounded a corner, making his way to the back, where he knew the offices were. Only one door was open.

"Colonel," Dr. Lam said, looking up from her laptop as he appeared in the doorway. "So sorry we had to push this back to the holiday."

Young shook his head. "It's fine," he said. "I heard about Dr. Brightman. How is she?"

"She's going to survive," Lam said, her face carefully neutral. "It's not yet clear what her functional status is going to be."

Young nodded.

"Have a seat," Lam said.

Young sat.

"Look, I read Dr. Keller's report. I looked at the notes from physical therapy. I'm not going to beat around the bush here, colonel," Lam said. "The Genii shell you took to the femur—for ninety-five percent of people, it's a career-ending injury."

"I see," Young said, trying to summon the mental energy to feel anything, anything _at all_ about her pronouncement.

Lam watched him for a moment and then she said, "You're taking this pretty well."

"Yup," Young said.

"You're not going to tell me that you think you're in that five percent?"

"Nope," Young said.

"Well," Lam said after a pause. "That's a first."

They were quiet for a moment.

"Is there anything you want to ask me?" Lam said, her eyes intent and dark.

"No," Young said. "You were pretty clear. I'm sure they'll give me a desk job somewhere."

Lam shut his file. "I saw in the computer system that you've missed two appointments with Dr. Mackenzie since you've been back planetside."

"Yeah." Young said.

"Why is that?" Lam asked.

"I'm not a big fan," Young said.

"I see," Lam said. "You realize that if you want to remain in good standing in the program, you need to not miss these kinds of appointments."

"Oh I'm aware of that," Young said. "Thank you."

Lam raised her eyebrows. "You're walking a fine line, colonel. They could discharge you for this kind of behavior."

He smiled briefly at her brusque manner. "Any chance I could see _you_ instead of Mackenzie?"

"I'm not a psychiatrist," Lam said flatly.

"Well I'm not really your typical psych patient," Young said.

Lam looked at her hands, considering. She looked back at his chart.

"He can't help me," Young said quietly.

"Why do you say that?" Lam asked.

"He's imprecise, methodologically sloppy, and utterly lacking in intellectual rigor."

"And you require precision from your mental health provider, do you?" Lam said, with a faint smile.

"I require it from everyone," Young said.

Lam looked at him, her smile fading. "Then don't bullshit me, colonel. What's the real reason?"

"He is determined to fix something that is not, by its nature, fixable," Young said quietly. "You seem like you're capable of grasping that."

Lam shut his file.

"Next Thursday," she said.

"Alright then," Young said, and got painfully to his feet. He made his way out through the gray-walled infirmary, past the empty beds, and into the nearly deserted cement-lined hallway. It was early afternoon. Outside, twenty-one levels up, most of the base personnel who had to work over the holiday, or who had nowhere else to go, were having a barbeque.

Jackson came around a corner, a stack of files in one hand, chatting easily with a woman with long, dark hair.

"It's a cultural celebration that originated after the civil war—"

"Daniel. Darling. If you're going to give me a twenty-five minute lecture, at least do it in reverse order." She made an intricate, animated little hand gesture.

"What?"

"Most interesting things _first_?"

"I resent that," Jackson said.

Privately, Young doubted that Jackson was really capable of resenting _anything_.

"No you don't," the woman said.

They both noticed him at the same time, when only a few feet of empty corridor separated them. The woman gave him an easy smile and nod, but Daniel stopped.

"Colonel Young," he said. "Hi."

"Dr. Jackson," Young replied shortly.

They were quiet for a few seconds.

"This is Vala," Jackson said.

"Vala Maldoran," she said, stepping forward and extending her hand. "SG-1."

"He _knows_," Jackson said, rolling his eyes. "_Everyone_ knows."

"It's very nice to meet you, Colonel," Vala said, obviously unperturbed. "Will you be attending this Memorial Day barbeque that I've been hearing so much about?"

"No," Young said, smiling faintly at her. "I don't think so."

"I'll meet you up there," Jackson said to her quietly.

"Is this going to be one of those things where three hours later I find you in your office rather than at the party?" Vala asked, narrowing her eyes.

"I'll be right there," Jackson said. "Go."

Vala's eyes slid over to Young. "Alright," she said quietly, and turned, heading toward the elevators, leaving him alone with Jackson in the empty hallway.

"How's the shoulder?" Jackson said, motioning to the sling that Young still wore.

"Better than the leg," Young replied.

"Yeah," Jackson said, fingering the edge of his files. "So um, I was wondering if maybe we could talk later. Maybe you could come by my apartment?"

"Look," Young said, "I know what you're trying to do, and I appreciate it, but it's not needed. Or wanted. So thanks, but no thanks."

"You _don't_ know, actually," Jackson said sharply.

"Whatever it is," Young said, "Just tell me now."

"They're going to declare him dead," Jackson said. "Soon. It will be soon. They do it after ninety days."

"That's the cutoff, is it? For ascension? Or rather, for _failing_ to ascend?"

"Yeah," Jackson's voice was quiet. "Bureaucracy rolls ever-onward, even here."

Young said nothing. He looked down at the concrete floor, cool and smooth and without flaws.

"It doesn't mean anything," Jackson whispered. "Not really. I've been declared dead—so many times. I don't even actually know how many. I try not to think about it."

Young nodded, clenching his jaw.

"But um, I—" Jackson broke off. "The thing that I wanted to tell you is that, I—" he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm his next of kin and executor of his will."

Young looked up, meeting Jackson's eyes.

"I know, it must seem weird to you but, actually, the way it happened is that—"

"It was David," Young guessed. "Originally, it was _David_."

"Yes," Jackson whispered. "Yes, they were close until right before he left for Icarus, but then," Jackson's voice faded almost to nothing, "But then they weren't, and I was the only person that he—well."

"Yeah," Young said.

"I tried to warn him. I tried to tell him not to go," Jackson said, his whisper twisting into a misery that Young recognized. "Not to use that device."

"I know," Young said. "I know you did."

"Anyway," Jackson said, making an obvious effort to regroup, "I'm going to sign it over to you. Everything."

"Don't do that," Young said. "I don't want it."

"I'm doing it anyway," Jackson said with a sad smile. "I've been keeping tabs on it in a loose sort of way while he was gone, so everything's in pretty good shape. You can do whatever you think is best."

Young sighed.

They were quiet for a moment.

"Why don't you come over tonight?" Jackson said quietly.

"I don't think so," Young said.

"Vala will be around," Jackson said, "She's good at keeping things light."

Young hesitated.

"Just for a beer," Jackson said quietly.

Young nodded.

"Great," Daniel said. "I'll pick you up on my way home. Maybe around seven?"

"Sure," Young said.

They parted ways and Young watched him go, half expecting him to walk straight through the metal of the elevator doors. But instead, he just hit the button and waited. Like anyone else.

* * *

><p><strong>June<strong>

He stood on the low bridge, his forearms resting against the rough wood as he looked out over the water. It was hot and leaves of the willow trees floated on the surface of the slowly moving stream, forming a deceptive solidity that stretched away from them in a linear manner before vanishing in a bend around some trees.

"Carter told me about this place," Eli said. "It's nice, right?"

"Yeah," Young said.

"She says the scientists come here to think about stuff if they have to get out of the lab."

"Eli," Young said. "Quit it."

"Yeah, okay, fine. I guess you would know what they call it."

"Breakdown bridge," Young said wryly.

"Hey. _I_ wasn't going to say it."

"Eli," Young said again. "I'm not having a breakdown."

"Yeah," Eli said. "I know. _Obviously_. Otherwise, would I have brought you out here? No. I'm not _that_ insensitive. I would have brought you to a _bar_."

"It's 1500 hours," Young said, continuing to give him a hard time.

"Everyone knows you can start drinking at noon on Saturday," Eli said. "Everyone."

"How's SG-3?" Young asked.

"It is _sweet_." Eli said. "The other day? We found what we think is a _Furling_ outpost. And I was all like 'that's cool,' but it was more like Daniel-style cool than Eli-style cool, right? I thought Daniel was actually going to cry from happiness over the radio when we reported back. But _then_ we found a terminal and I hooked up a naquadah generator to it, which, by the way, I've never done before but Carter wrote a manual that pretty much everyone can follow, but did you know that if you _don't_ follow it _exactly_ you can actually blow yourself up? That's not really explicitly stated and so I think people maybe should know that, right? Or maybe it's just implied, because hey, it's _naquadah_. But _anyway_ I'm getting sidetracked. So I hooked up the generator and the terminal powered up. It was amazing. First of all, they had really sophisticated solid state technology so it's pretty much good as new. Unfortunately I can't read any of it, but Dr. J is like teaching himself Furling as we speak and it takes him basically twenty minutes to learn a new language so I'm going to start looking at it with him this afternoon."

Young exhaled shortly in something that was almost a laugh.

"I _know_," Eli said significantly. "It's going to be epic. Ginn is going to come hang out when she finishes going through the latest LA secret-spy-stuff that she's doing. I can't even know about it, it's so secret, and my security clearance is _high_, let me tell you. But anyway. How's the leg? How's the shoulder?"

"Doing pretty well," Young said. "I'm driving again, so that's nice."

"Um, yeah," Eli said. "Good. Are you going to go back to Atlantis? I heard Sheppard is asking for you back. I heard that you saved McKay in a pretty intense, badass, hardcore way."

Young snorted. "I don't think so. I won't be passing the physical requirements with this leg."

"I heard that McKay was asking for you to be reassigned there as well," Eli said carefully. "In a consulting capacity. Like, as a _math_ slash _Ancient_ consultant."

"Yeah," Young said.

"I also heard, that even though you don't have the ATA gene, the ah—the city lit up for you. And that you could fly the shuttles and use all the tech. Without the gene therapy." The speed of Eli's speech had slowed. His voice was quieter.

"True," Young said, looking out at the water.

They were silent for a few minutes.

"It's not getting better," Eli said. "Is it." It wasn't really a question.

"No," Young said. "It's getting worse."

"Yeah. Why—why is that, do you think?"

Young looked down at the rough grain of the wood that made up the bridge. "Remember when the four of us—he and I and you and Chloe, were in the shuttle from the Seeder ship?"

"Yeah," Eli whispered, just audible above the drone of the insects. "I remember."

"Well," Young said. "That was the first time, that I know of, that he really _combined_ with the ship."

"As in like, _combined_ combined?" Eli asked.

"Yeah." Young said. "And he knew, he _knew_ what he was, I think, but he didn't understand how difficult it would be for me to separate him back into himself and the AI. And he didn't fully understand how dangerous Destiny would be to a normal, human mind."

"You passed out," Eli said quietly. "Trying to pull him out of the ship. I remember that."

"Not exactly," Young whispered. "I tried to pull him out and I failed."

Eli was quiet.

"We needed him," Young said, "And he knew it, so he did took the only option available to him. He moved in on my mind and used me to tear himself apart."

Eli said nothing, his eyes invisible behind his sunglasses. He continued to look out over the water, utterly still.

"Interfacing with the ship like that was enough to—" Young broke off.

"Almost completely destroy your mind," Eli finished for him.

"He fixed it," Young said. "But when he did the fixing, he needed a template."

"Well," Eli said. "I guess we know where he got his template from."

"Yup," Young said, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

They were quiet for a moment.

"He thought he could come back," Eli said quietly. "It's the only explanation. He would never, _ever_ leave you like this."

"I'm not so sure about that," Young replied.

"I am," Eli said. "I'm positive. He wouldn't do this to you. He wouldn't be able to."

"He was perfectly capable of exactly that," Young said. "When the alternative was letting me die. Was _watching_ me die."

"He had to have planned for this. He had to have _known_. He orchestrated everything else so perfectly."

"I concur," Young snapped. "And what, then, is the obvious inference?"

Eli grimaced, looking away. "We don't know. We don't know anything for sure."

"Say it," Young snapped.

"That he failed," Eli whispered. "That he's dead." He swallowed. "That he's dead, and you—you're stuck like this."

"Yes," Young hissed.

"I don't believe it," Eli said. "I don't. I _won't_."

"By all means," Young replied. "Persist in an irrational manner if it suits you."

Eli compressed his lips and clenched his hands. "You've got to try to fight this," he said, his voice strained.

Young took a deep breath. "I know," he said finally. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Eli whispered.

They watched the water carry along an endless, slow sweep of willow leaves.

* * *

><p><strong>July<strong>

The wedding had been at dusk, held outside on the back lawn of the late Senator Armstrong's private residence. Chloe's mother had spared no expense. There were flowers everywhere, exploding in waterfalls of pale pink and white. Chloe's dress was beautiful—plain and elegant and made of something light and summery. She'd had flowers in her hair but no veil.

He'd stood with her, inside, looking out at the guests, listening to the sound of the string quartet, trying to think of something to say to her. Something that wasn't sad. Something that was hopeful, something appropriate.

"Chloe," he'd said, starting without knowing how he would finish.

She wrapped her small hand around his elbow. "I'm glad you're here, colonel."

"Your father—"

She shook her head, teary eyed. "No," she said quietly, and pulled him in, wrapping her arms around him, lifting up on her toes in her strappy flat shoes. "Don't say anything. This is wonderful. Thank you for doing this. Thank you for coming. I know that this—that seeing everyone—that it's hard for you."

He had hugged her back, trying not to crush any of the roses in her hair.

He had lasted through the cocktail hour, the pictures, the dinner, the associated awkward conversations with the crew that all seemed to follow the same pattern—excitement to see him, followed by the slow creep of something uncomfortable, something awkward. He couldn't figure out what it was, exactly, that prevented him from reconnecting with everyone and had finally retreated to the shadows at the back of the house.

He stood next to an old stone wall the formed the base of the portico for the hillside estate. Roses grew along a trellis near the point where he leaned against the masonry, watching the guests mingle in the setting sun. The entire crew of Destiny had been invited. They looked different. The three months that they had been back had softened their angles, brightened their hair, lightened their expressions. Camile, especially, looked happy, and rarely strayed more than ten feet from the woman he assumed was Sharon, though he had never been formally introduced. Greer and Park had come together. Eli kept pointing things out to Ginn, who seemed utterly delighted with the entire concept of what was taking place.

General O'Neill came around the corner of the house and stopped short on seeing him.

"Everett," he said quietly.

"Jack," he replied.

"Nice ceremony," O'Neill said mildly, coming to stand beside him, offering him one of the two beers he was holding.

Young shook his head. "You go ahead. I'll see you later."

"Yeah, nice try. Take the beer. You look like you could use one."

Young gave in and reached out to take the offered bottle.

"So," O'Neill said. "Shouldn't you be out there chatting people up? You did give away the bride, after all."

"True," Young said, his voice deceptively mild. "Ironically, I also almost had her shot eighteen months ago when, through no fault of her own, she compromised security on Destiny."

There was a brief silence, which O'Neill seemed to find uncomfortable. Young took a sip of his beer.

"Well," O'Neill said guardedly, "It looks like she got over it."

"Yup."

"So," O'Neill said, and took a sip of his beer. "I heard you managed to ditch your psychiatrist for an infectious disease doctor. How's that working out for you?"

"Just fine," Young said.

"Really," O'Neill murmured, clearly skeptical. "You talking to Daniel?"

"Yeah," Young said. "A bit."

"I heard from Carter that you're some kind of crack math genius now," O'Neill said. "Or computer genius. Whatever. Something about writing a code to improve the rate and safety of our dialing program?"

Young shrugged.

There was a brief silence.

"I was tempted to order you back to Mackenzie," O'Neill murmured.

"Why didn't you?" Young asked.

"Because," O'Neill said quietly. "This is not a grief-thing, or a guilt-thing, or a bad-coping-mechanisms-thing, is it? This is something else. Maybe just something you need to learn to live with."

"Yeah," Young said.

They drank their beer in silence.

"Consider getting a haircut," O'Neill said finally. "It'll make things a little less obvious."

"Yeah," Young said. "I keep forgetting."

Out on the portico, he watched Chloe wrap her arms around Ginn and TJ in a three-way hug. The setting sun put red highlights in their hair, and reflected off the crystal embroidery on Chloe's dress.

"Write it on your hand, maybe," O'Neill suggested.

* * *

><p><strong>August<strong>

He had not wanted to come here.

The Strategic Air Command of Travis Air Force base, however, had required an upper level briefing on the cloaked Lucian Alliance ship that had been shot down several hundred miles off the coast of California. That explained the two days he'd spent briefing and debriefing, but it did _not_ explain the hour-long taxi ride from the base to the eastern side of San Francisco bay.

Even behind his sunglasses, his eyes hurt in the reflected light that came from white walls of houses and the pale cement of the sidewalks. The air was hazy, blurred with the heat, and in the well-manicured, professionally maintained lawn the bees buzzed, the sound of their wings low and threatening amongst the blooming asters.

He reached beneath a loose brick for the spare key.

It wasn't breaking and entering if you had a key.

Was it?

He opened the door and shut it behind him. Dust glittered in the light that entered slant-wise through the irregular cracks in the drawn shades over the windows. Beneath the patina of disuse he saw what it had been when it was lived in—clean and bright and professional. Impersonal, even.

A place _where_ they had been, not _who_ they had been.

He paused a moment, leaning in the doorway, thinking of Gloria. She hadn't wanted to stay here. It was written all over the white, pictureless walls, the spare utilitarianism of each room, the pale characterless furniture, as if by refusing to settle in, she could make the place temporary by force of will.

In the end, it had been.

As for Nick, well, he'd been erasing himself for his entire life.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he murmured to the empty music room, not entirely sure which of them he was talking to.

He turned and walked across the hall. The door to the study was shut. He twisted the knob, and pushed it open. The room was a disaster, a sort of contained, compartmentalized breakdown that matched his mind and that just _fit_ the man so well, that even though he knew what he was going to see, his throat hurt with it. On the desk, an array of pens—capless, cheap, expensive, colored, black—spread out over the papers that obscured the wood. Amongst the pens, the blade of a box cutter caught a shaft of light.

Rush had never come back here. He had beamed away with the intent to return in twelve hours and—he'd never come back.

He looked away.

He was here for a purpose. There were some things he needed.

A notebook from 1998. It had some things in it that he's been working on in his spare time, and there was no point reinventing the wheel, especially as most of the theoretically tricky calculations had been done. The room was a disorganized mess, but it only took him a few minutes to find the thing, half buried underneath the pretentiously legitimate vinyl collection.

He remembered where he had left it.

A set of unlabeled CDs. They were original recordings that spanned a period of fifteen years, when Gloria was performing professionally, first with the London Symphony Orchestra and then with the San Francisco Symphony.

They were lucky to get her, the bastards.

On the way out, he snagged car keys, three empty notebooks and a fountain pen.

He'd always liked that pen.

Or rather, _Rush_ had always liked it.

* * *

><p><strong>September<strong>

He stood, leaning against the side of the white Prius. There was no reason for him to be here. Not really. It was a stupid idea. And creepy. And just—well. Just a bad idea. He was supposed to be letting go. And this was the opposite of letting go. This was hanging on.

The air was crisp and clear and smelled familiar. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and tapped it against his hand absently before delicately removing one and sticking it between his teeth. He shielded the lighter from the early morning breeze with one cupped hand as he lit the thing.

"Nick," he heard someone call and he half-turned out of habit. "_Nick. _I can't believe—"

Whoever it was stopped short as he spun around. He took in a man about his own height, with a stack of papers tucked under his arm and a cup of coffee in one hand.

God, he _needed_ some coffee.

"Oh," the other man said, nearly losing his grip on his papers. "So sorry. I thought you were someone else. Same car, you know. And the cigarettes. I'm always forgetting my glasses—"

"I'm waiting for someone," he said, and somehow, around the cigarette, he was subtly drawing out vowels and dropping a g and modifying suffixes and this was getting _out of control_.

"Yes, of course," the other man said, looking disappointed as he turned away.

Young knew how he felt.

After a few moments, a car turned down the road. Somehow, he could tell, just by the slow and precise parking job that it was Chloe. He watched her get out of the practical little red Honda civic and open the back seat to pull out a shoulder bag. Her hair was straight and pulled back and she was wearing square-framed glasses.

She looked like she'd been here all her life. Right down to the birkenstocks. She lifted her coffee off the back of the car and tilted her chin up as she settled the bag over her shoulder. That little quirk of the head was the only reason he knew that she was afraid. Well. That and the fact that she was twenty minutes early for class which was—simply not done. Not around here. But she'd figure that out soon enough.

She didn't look at him. She walked forward, toward the math building.

He decided abruptly, as he flicked his cigarette down onto the pavement, that if she didn't turn, he wouldn't say anything.

But she did turn.

She looked over once, and then again, her pace slowing, until she stopped entirely, one hand coming up to grip the strap of the shoulder bag that was settled across her chest. For a split second, her face contained something that he recognized in his own eyes. But then she smiled and she came forward.

"Hey kiddo," he said.

"Hi colonel," she replied, not entirely able to hide the shakiness of her smile from him. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in the area," he lied. "I thought I'd stop by."

"You know what time set theory meets?"

"I ought to, I—" He broke off.

"Yeah," Chloe said. "I got ya." She wrapped both hands around her coffee, as if she were cold.

"I like the glasses," he said quietly.

"Yeah." She smiled again and it was steadier this time. "All that staring at screens on Destiny ruined my eyes. Anyway, Eli tells me that glasses are absolutely required if you want to be taken seriously in academia. That, and a working knowledge of the science of star trek, at least five words of Klingon, and the ability to quote large portions of something known as Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog."

Young looked away, suppressing a half-smile. "You'll do fine. And what does _Eli_ know about academia anyway?"

She shrugged and they looked at each other for a moment.

Chloe's smile wavered.

He looked down.

"You look—tired," she said.

"It's just the traveling," he murmured. "I come out here every so often to take care of a few things."

"Yeah," Chloe said, pressing her lips together and taking a long slow breath. "That makes sense." Her voice was raw.

"How are _you_ doing?" Young said, after a brief pause.

"Okay," she said.

"Yeah?" he asked, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

"Even now," she said, "I still have the dreams. Almost every night."

"I don't think they'll ever fade," Young said gently.

"I pound against the glass," she said quietly. "As my mother watches me drown."

"Yeah," he said, and the word was nearly without sound. "I remember."

"But more often now," she said, giving him a watery smile, "I have the dream where he breaks through the glass. Where I fall as the water rushes out. Where he pulls me off the floor and takes me back. To Destiny."

Young looked up at the clear blue of the sky.

"I remember the set of his shoulders."

He was quiet.

"What about you?" she whispered. "What do you dream of?"

"I try not to, kiddo," he said.

They were quiet for a moment.

"There's a nice coffee shop around the corner," he said, regrouping. "A lot of the grad students seem to congregate there, doing god knows what." He gave her a half smile. "Don't let them push you around," he said. "Erode your confidence. Most of them are just fucking jealous assholes."

Her expression cracked, and she knelt to set her coffee down on the sidewalk. She straightened slowly and then stepped forward, throwing her arms around his neck, knocking him back against the car. She sobbed one time, her face buried in his shoulder, and his arms tightened around her.

They said nothing.

After a minute, Chloe pulled back and picked up her coffee cup.

"You call me if you want to talk about math," she whispered. "Or—anything else."

"Give me that," Young said, motioning at her coffee.

She handed it over, and he scribbled three sets of empty brackets onto it with a pen he pulled from his pocket. He turned the cup around.

"This?" he said, pointing to the brackets, "A non-empty pure set. Starr always asks this on the first day. The jackass."

"A non-empty pure set," Chloe repeated, looking up at him. "Thanks. Are you going to be in town for a while?"

Young shook his head. "I've got to get back. Tell Matt I said hi."

She nodded, but didn't turn away.

"Get out of here," he said, giving her a half smile.

He watched her until she had disappeared inside the math building. Then he drove his car out to the athletic fields and he sat on the hood, trying to think of games and touchdowns and the spin of the ball that was all gyroscopic stability—fuck. He tried to think of _anything but math_ as he stared out at the open space of an empty football field and made a genuine effort to shove the personality of a dead man back into the recesses of his mind where it belonged.

* * *

><p><strong>October<strong>

Young lit a cigarette and looked out over the sea.

This was McKay's fault. Entirely. He'd been doing okay. For months now he had been screening applications, interviewing the SGC recruits, and running the simulations at Cheyenne Mountain that separated out the best of them.

He hadn't done a math problem in weeks. _Weeks_. Well, eleven days, technically, before McKay showed up to do his goddamned '_congressional briefing_' and asked for his _input_ on a singularity-based power source, like a fucking _insensitive asshole_.

Well. Fine. He'd fallen off the theoretical physics wagon, but it wasn't like it was the first time. The thing that was becoming really obvious though, was that he really should _not_ drink. Not anymore, _at all_, and failing total abstinence, clearly not with _fucking Rodney_.

Clearly not with Rodney.

The bizarre fucking blend that was his _fucking_ mind—

The state of his _thoughts_ was such that when he drank, really bad ideas started to seem less bad. Like this one. This had been a bad idea. As bad as they fucking came.

He took a deep breath, and made a decisive effort to _calm down_. Everything was much better when he could just—stay calm.

Below him, the water broke along the dark rocks in white crests. The wind whipped through his hair, teasing his jacket, disturbing the grasses and the clusters of small purple flowers that covered the ground at his feet.

"You could have told me," Young snapped at the empty air. "I would have understood."

He hadn't really started thinking clearly until he had _already_ flown to JFK and the transatlantic flight had taken off, changing velocity pressing him back and down into his seat, and New York had spread out below like a carpet of light.

"It explains a lot, actually," he continued, conversationally, feeling calmer as he mentally achieved a marginal degree of separation between himself and the person he was addressing. "But I suppose that's part of why you never said anything. Not to me, not to Gloria, not to anyone." He took a drag of his cigarette. "I bet the AI knew, though. I'll bet it knew _everything_."

He exhaled, watching little birds circle over the distant, dark rocks.

"I understand that too," he said.

He turned and he walked up and over the crest of the hill, following the path that Riley had taken in a place that had looked like this one, but that had been less sharp, somehow, less edged, and less acutely painful.

He walked to the back of the small church, winding his way between the graves old and new until he found what he was looking for. It was mostly overgrown. He sat gingerly, stretching his aching, injured leg out in front of him. He ran a thumb over the flat gray stone, clearing the damp earth away from the engraved letters with his nail.

"Alexander," he murmured. "Not your fault, kiddo," he whispered, "But not his either."

He ripped back some of the overgrown, spiky grass, looking at the dates. He'd had a sense of it already, of course, from the dreams and from—from _everything_, but—

"Fifteen," Young said, looking at the dates. "And he must have been, what? Twelve?" He looked at the stone and shook his head. "Thirteen," he whispered. "They way he remembers it—well. I thought he would have been older."

Young carefully brushed the loose earth away from the grave.

"Your brother hated water," Young said with some difficulty, "For the rest of his life." He paused. "But it might also interest you to know—" Young broke off, clenching his jaw. "That he never believed what they said. He never believed in hell. And even if he had, he never would have believed, not even for a _second_ that _you_ would ever end up there."

Young said nothing for a long time.

"He kept your secret," Young murmured. "And then, after you died, he kept you as one."

After a few minutes he pulled a carved chess piece out of his pocket and set it down with a soft click against the stone.

"I don't think I'll be back this way again, kid," he said quietly. "I'm trying to let go, if you know what I mean."

* * *

><p><strong>November<strong>

McKay was back on Atlantis, but that was fine.

Young didn't care.

Young didn't want to talk to him anyway. He didn't want to talk to McKay about Yang-Mills existence and mass gap, he didn't want to talk to skype with Chloe to find out how set theory was going and he didn't want to talk to Carter about the implications of turbulence in the event horizon of unstable wormholes. Nope. He _also_ didn't want to fucking go online and read the latest issue of the Annals of Mathematics and he most certainly did not want to look at the e-table of contents of Communications on Applied Mathematics even though it was a Thursday and the new eTOCs come out on Thursday. He didn't want to _fucking _look and he didn't want to _fucking_ know.

Nope.

The material conditional. If math, then drinking.

Converse indicative conditional. If he did no math, then he did not drink.

Counterfactual conditional. If he had not done math, then he would not be drinking.

Was cause and effect really anything more than implied? If not, then it was no victory to skip the math and go straight to the drinking.

_If_ causality does not exist, _then_—

Fuck it.

He went to O'Malley's.

It was already late when he left the base, freezing rain thrown into sparkling relief in the beams of his headlights and impacting his windshield in hard, icy drops. When he got to the bar, it was quiet. Most of the clientele tended to come from the base, and he'd heard rumors of some kind of presidential visit or Tok'ra conference, or Asgard something-or-other going on tomorrow.

Whatever.

He ordered a scotch.

Then he fucking changed his order to fucking _beer_. A shitty _American _beer.

He drank his beer, and _then_ he ordered a scotch.

He needed to do something about this. He needed a strategy. That was how he operated. It was who he was.

He ordered another scotch.

He sat at the bar, tracing patterns in the dark wood, trying to remember who he was. Who _he_ was. He had nieces and nephews. An ex-wife who still cared about him enough to call him every other month, every second Sunday. He had interests. Interests that were not math. That were not science. He liked—fucking football. And guns.

Ugh.

Okay, maybe not guns anymore. He would let Rush win that one.

But he liked football. And he liked hockey. And he liked the chain of command—sometimes. But he liked the outdoors and he liked dogs. He liked American food. Alright, _some_ American food. And he liked classic rock. And he did _not _like jazz. He felt utterly neutral about classical music. And he did not currently have, nor had he _ever_ had any strong feelings about _math_ for fuck's sake.

He took out a cigarette and lit it up with practiced ease.

"You can't smoke in here," the bartender said sharply.

"I don't smoke _anyway_," Young snapped back.

Okay.

So he wasn't having a good night. Fine. Maybe he would just go with it. Or maybe he'd fucking go home, and _really_ get wrecked. _Drunk_. Whatever.

On his way back from the men's room, he stumbled slightly, which was enough to drive home the fact that he needed to call a cab. It was only when he looked down and saw his hand against a familiar dark ridge of wood that he knew that this was not just a bad night.

It was a fucking terrible night.

He could no more walk away from the piano than he could shove any of the rest of it out of his head and the only hesitation of his hands above the keys was the hesitation that came at the peak of a ballistic trajectory where thrust meets gravity and for a moment change in position over time approaches zero.

He sat and he looked at the keys for a moment. And then, he began to play.

The Impromptu in G flat clawed its way out of his mind as if it lived there, a separate thing, waiting to emerge fully formed. Continuous fluttering arpeggios beneath the melody blending and falling through entire dynamic ranges, his articulation practiced and familiar and sure and _god_ the man had not just 'played piano' because this was not music.

This was the sound of his mind shredding into broken triads.

He finished the piece and stood, rocketing back from the keys, nearly losing his balance.

He would have fallen, but someone grabbed his upper arm.

"Hey," Daniel said, his voice low and quiet.

Young shut his eyes, barely able to stand the sight of the other man, but utterly unable to send him away.

"You look like you could use a ride home," Daniel said.

"Yeah," Young replied.

* * *

><p><strong>December<strong>

Multicolored lights wound their way around the black metal of the porch railing in tightly spaced loops. Their breath condensed in the darkness. Inside, he could hear Luke, mock-roaring as he wrestled with two of the nephews.

"What happened out there, Everett?" JD asked quietly. "Wherever it is that you were?"

"I can't talk about it."

"I know that, just—generally. Whatever it was, it's tearing you apart. It's changing you."

He smiled at that, and he _felt_ it on his face—it was _Rush's_ smile. Rush's fucking pained half-smile that he'd never really appreciated for what it was—this way that one could somehow feel so amused, so incredulous and so fucking _hurt_.

"I left someone behind," Young said, angling his head up, letting his eyelids flicker shut, his head coming back to rest against the icy exterior of the house. "Not once, but twice. The first time, he came back. The second time, he didn't."

JD was quiet for a moment, their breath freezing, crystallizing in the air. The night was utterly clear, and their little galaxy spread out above them, scattered in crisp relief over the darkness. It seemed small to him.

"Sounds like you didn't have much choice about it," JD said guardedly.

Young shrugged, unable to speak.

"This guy," JD said, and god if he hadn't _always_ been like this, ever since Young was a kid, coming right to the heart of everything. "What was he like?"

"Extremely complicated," and Young could not resist reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

"Since when do you smoke?" JD asked quietly.

"As a habit? It's a relatively recent acquisition. Or—" he broke off with Rush's smile again and placed the cigarette delicately between his teeth. "Maybe not so recent. Depends on how you look at it." He fished for a lighter in his pocket.

"It's bad for you," JD said, ignoring the incomprehensibility of his statement and focusing on what he could understand, which, in the grand scheme of things, was not much.

That too, he recognized.

"The best things always are," Young replied.

"So—tell me about this guy. What happened?"

"He was a civilian," Young said shrugging. "I was supposed to bring him home, and I didn't."

"Everett."

Young sighed, still looking out at the galaxy. "Look, I can't tell you specifics, but you know the whole navy mentality, go-down-with-the-ship type of thing?"

"Yeah," JD said cautiously.

"It was that sort of scenario, and I was going to stay and go down with the hypothetical fucking ship."

"But instead it was him," JD murmured.

"Yeah," Young said shortly.

"And you can't live with that."

"In more ways than one," he said, his eyes still shut.

"Everett." There was something sad in his brother's voice, and that was appropriate, Young thought, because in a lot of ways—in all the most important ways, JD's little brother was dead.

"Does this guy have a name?" JD asked.

"No," Young said.

"Okay. We'll call him—um, Steve. It seems like you and Steve—"

"Nick," Young whispered, his voice coming out too raw, too pained.

"Nick then," JD said quietly. "It seems like you and Nick had a relationship that was more complicated than just a military guy protecting a civilian contractor, or analyst, or whatever he was exactly."

"Yeah," Young said, feeling JD slowly unravel him, letting him do it for what was probably the last time.

"So what was the deal, exactly?" JD murmured after a few minutes.

"He tried to frame me for murder." Young shrugged. "He failed. I then attacked him and left him to die. He came back. We worked out our differences. I slept with him. He forced me to leave him behind."

Silence.

"Um, _holy shit_, Everett."

"Like I said. He was complicated."

JD just breathed evenly out into the night, a long, slow exhale. There were so many avenues of attack open to him, Young was curious to see what he would pick.

"Is he dead?"

_God damn_.

"You've always been too fucking perceptive, JD. How the hell did you end up in this family anyway?"

"I question people for a living, Everett. You didn't answer me."

"I don't know. I think he is."

"Is the—not-knowing what's keeping you going?" JD asked.

"Yeah, but I'm not really on a sustainable trajectory here, as you've probably noticed."

"Grief is never a sustainable trajectory," JD murmured.

"You think this is grief?"

"That's what it looks like from here."

"Well, it's not," Young snapped at him. "The man was a fucking _landslide_ of a human being and in the end—" Young broke off and this was _not_ happening to him, he was not having a breakdown on porch of his parents' house, he was _not_. "And in the end, he stayed true to what he _was_—an untrustworthy bastard fucking _pragmatist_."

"Nick." JD said, like a question, like a reminder, like an admonishment—like he was using the _fucking_ _vocative case_.

"Yeah," Young replied, his voice shattering into nothing against the word. "Nick."

* * *

><p><strong>January<strong>

He was driving across the plains states just after New Year's when he decided he couldn't take it any more.

The land was flat, and white, and blanketed with snow. The clouded sky was leaden and low to the ground.

He took the first available exit off the freeway and pulled into a gas station in the middle of nowhere. He filled up the tank of the white Prius and then asked for a key to the men's room, passing the aisles of packaged, processed food, the cheap magazines, the terrible coffee.

He went outside.

It was starting to snow—just a few tiny, fragile little flakes that matched the sky and the land and the cement and the chipped, peeling paint of the wall of the gas station.

The door that he opened was gray.

Light filtered in from a vent that connected to the outside. He could just make out his face in the mirror in the dim light.

He didn't recognize himself.

"I'm sorry," he said to his reflection. "But I can't do this anymore."

He knelt down on the floor of the men's room, one hand on the sink.

He reached back into his mind, and with as much focus and intent as he was able to bring to bear he purposefully pulled everything he had of Rush forward. Everything.

Three minutes later, he opened his eyes, rocketing to his feet only to steady himself against the sink. He clenched his hands quickly once, and then relaxed them. He felt a muscle in his cheek twitching. His hands were shaking, his whole body was shaking. He curled his fingers around the edges of the sink.

He looked up, flinging his hair back out of his face. He kept forgetting to cut it.

_God, yes_.

This was better. It was _better_.

He laughed, once, shortly.

"I told you," he said to himself, and his voice—his voice was very subtly accented, the words rolling out in a manner that was unfamiliar but oh-so-satisfying, as if he'd been saying everything incorrectly for _months._ "We'd never be done."

* * *

><p><strong>February<strong>

"So," Lam said, reaching out to nudge a pawn forward with her pinkie. "Something's changed. I can't quite put my finger on it, but you seem different. Settled, maybe, more talkative, but—in an _anxious_ way."

Young looked up sharply from the chessboard. "Settled but _anxious_," he snapped. "That's nonsensical."

"Case in point," Lam said, raising her eyebrows. "Also, I think you've lost weight."

"I doubt that," Young replied. "Personally, I think I've _improved_."

"I see," Lam said, as she watched him reposition his bishop, "In that case, why don't you tell me a little bit about him. About what he was like."

"No," Young said shortly.

"One thing," Lam said, her tone casual. "Just one."

Young looked at her over the frames of his glasses.

Lam raised her eyebrows in an overt challenge.

"He was arrogant," Young said, "And he was practical, and he had a hard edge. He was incompletely understood by nearly everyone who ever interacted with him. He was utterly uncontainable."

"Uncontainable," Lam whispered. "I'm getting that."

"He was the kind of person," Young said, "That a starship could fall in love with."

"Destiny," Lam said. "_Destiny_ was in love with him?"

"Yes," Young said, looking away. "It was."


	50. Chapter 50

**Author's Notes**: This story picks up sometime in late season 2 and will diverge from canon at that point. I intend for this to be a relatively long work. It's told from Young's POV, but arguably Rush is the central character. No copyright infringement is intended. I am making no money from this.

**Warnings:** This is (very slow building) Young/Rush, meaning Young SLASH Rush, meaning two men in a relationship with each other. Do not read if such things offend you. Also, it's tonally and thematically dark in places.

**Additional notes: **This is the last chapter.

**Thanks: **First and foremost, I want to thank Apophis3. To my utter amazement and astonishment, she has, _without fail_, PMed or emailed me her thoughtful analysis to each and every chapter or oneshot that I have ever published on this site for almost a _year_. I am so grateful! I would also like to thank Sacredclay for her amazing reviews, recs, and FoD inspired artwork, plus for her constant encouragement and support. Huge thanks and appreciation also go to Elaiel and Kimmy for their continuous and wonderful encouragement and for fun email conversations about SGU that always brighten my day. I would also like to profusely thank tanyanevidimka, Medianoche Shalott, and sacredclay for their unbelievable FoD-inspired artwork (directions on how to see this fantastic artwork can now be found in the relevant chapters). It means so much to me! I'd also like to thank everyone who left reviews or PM'd me over the course of writing FoD. I hope you guys like this last chapter because I wrote FoD in part for me, but also, very much, for all of you.

* * *

><p>The air was warm and smelled like spring. Young perched on a metal rail, notebook in hand. He faced west, into the red haze of the setting sun. Around him, neat lines of identical white stones spread out, sloping down over the darkening hillside.<p>

The ceremony had been that morning.

He had intended to go but, somehow, he hadn't.

It didn't matter. Rush wouldn't have given a damn—not about the formal bullshit anyway. Not about the improperly titled 'funeral' in which nothing was really buried and not about the god damned _building_ that someone had gotten named after him. The funding of an entire research division meant to study the nature of the multiverse—_that_ would have interested him.

As for the rest of the crew—well, they had wanted to see him, certainly, but not like this. Not like he was now.

He pushed his hair back.

The sun was low and the ground was dark. He ran a thumb over the open page of his pocket-sized notebook, tracing the indentations where a forceful script had imprinted the delicate paper as he looked out over the regular array of white marble, tinted to rose by the setting sun.

"This," Rush said conversationally, hovering in his peripheral vision as if he'd always been there, "Is fair fucking depressing."

Young jerked, nearly loosing his balance. The small notebook dropped from his lap to hit the place where grass met the flagstones of the path. His hands tightened on the metal, and he turned to look at the other man.

Rush was leaning against the rail, his forearms resting against the dark metal. The sleeves of his crisp, white shirt were pulled back nearly to his elbows. His hair was shorter than it had ever been on Destiny, and he was clean-shaven. He looked up obliquely at Young. Something in his gaze suggested uncertainty.

Young narrowed his eyes.

The back of his mind, the place from which everything seemed to come—the math, the anger, the anxiety, the pain of an unnatural emptiness—remained unchanged.

Rush looked at him steadily.

"So," Young said, recovering his equilibrium. "Fucking _finally_. Though I have to say, I expected you to be a bit more—" he broke off. "A bit more _accurate_."

Rush flinched slightly, loosing his neutral expression, looking down and away, out over the graves.

Young climbed off the rail with a pointed glare.

Rush straightened, facing him. "You seem to be taking this rather well," he said guardedly.

"Of course I am. Do you have _any_ _idea_ how long I've been waiting to have a psychotic break?" Young snapped. "You're not even very convincing, but hopefully you'll improve with time."

Rush's eyes locked to his, and he looked at Young with the full force of his attention that—even like this, even as a construct of his own fucked up mind, was nearly impossible to bear. After a few seconds, Rush gave him his pained half-smile. "Oh you know me," he murmured. "Always seeking out the next, best iteration."

"It's fucking exhausting," Young growled.

"I know," Rush whispered, looking away. "I know it is."

They were quiet for a moment.

"In the interest of full disclosure," Rush said quietly. "I'm not your psychotic break."

"Thank you," Young said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "For that unverifiable opinion."

"Everett," Rush whispered. "Come on."

"What," Young snapped, pulling out his lighter, trying to conceal the shaking in his hands. "_What_. What do you fucking _want_ from me? You're not even fucking real. He's dead."

"Not true," Rush murmured.

"Shut up," Young hissed. "Just shut the _fuck_ up, alright? I pulled everything forward partly because I couldn't stand to keep shoving it back, but _partly_ on the off chance that I could get 'you'," he paused, to give not-Rush a pointed look, "To actually fucking coalesce out of basically the _entire personality_ he left behind, but I know what this is, and it's _not real_. So don't fuck with me any more than you already have, you _jackass_." He took a long, slow pull of his cigarette, trying to regain his fraying control. "I don't need this kind of shit from my irritatingly _un_-self-aware neural architecture."

Rush watched him for a moment, saying nothing. Then, in one fluid motion, he reached forward, snatched the cigarette out of Young's hand, dropped it on the ground and crushed it beneath his boot. He raised his eyebrows at Young, his expression caught between challenge and sympathy.

Young looked back at him, taking in the way the setting sun played across the lines of his shirt, the way it put red highlights into his hair.

"That's—" Young said, swallowing. "That's pretty good for an hallucination."

"It is, isn't it?" Rush said, his voice barely audible.

They looked at each other for a moment. Slowly, Rush brought one hand up, palm open. Young brought his own hand forward, pressing their palms together, interlacing their fingers. The other man's skin was warm and solid under his own. The sensation was nearly unbearable.

"I think," Rush breathed, "That perhaps it's time I helped you with this neural architecture problem you seem to be having."

Young said nothing, just continued to stare at their entwined fingers.

"Okay?" Rush said uncertainly.

"Okay," Young whispered back.

Nothing happened. He finally tore his eyes away from their hands to look at Rush.

"Take down your block," Rush murmured gently. He took a half step forward, his feet soundless on the gray flagstones.

"I'm not blocking," Young whispered.

"You are," Rush whispered, his free hand coming around the back of Young's neck. "Your mind is a mess of shattered barriers that you've built and that I've destroyed." His thumb grazed the side of Young's temple. "In one way or another."

"It's not your fault," Young whispered into the quiet air.

"Of course it is," Rush murmured. "Just try to think about—" he broke off, looking up at the darkening sky, his features lit up by the oblique light of the setting sun. "Try to think about letting me in."

They were inches apart, Rush applying a careful pressure to the back of Young's neck, his hand warm over rigid, tense musculature. Young let him move incrementally closer, his mind a half-panicked swirl, wondering what he would find when his barriers came down, wondering _which one of them_, but knowing already—

Rush kissed him.

It was familiar and slow and _careful_ and more than he had been prepared for and Young didn't have to think about _letting_ him in, he was _pulling_ him in, body and mind, hands fisting into Rush's shirt, thoughts dragging him into the places he had used to fill, flowing down a gradient of differential mental pressure. Rush swept through his mind, bright and clear and controlled and complicated and every bit as overwhelming as he had ever been.

* * *

><p>The flagstones were warm beneath his back.<p>

He opened his eyes to find himself lying half in Rush's lap. The scientist's fingers trailed absently through his hair.

"How do you feel?" Rush murmured, looking down at him.

"Weird," Young murmured.

Rush smiled faintly. "Weird," he repeated with a patient sort of disdain. "That's not very informative."

"More like me," Young said. "Less like you."

"Good," Rush whispered, watching Young push himself up into a seated position on the flagstones.

"What the hell took you so long?" Young growled at him. "It's been a _year_, Rush. You could have _warned _me about—I don't know—_this_ shit," he said, yanking on a piece of his too-long hair. "You could have told me what exactly you were planning."

"I _did_ warn you," Rush said dryly.

"_When_?"

"I believe there was a rather dramatic mention of razing your consciousness to the ground?" Rush said, smiling faintly. "You never listen to me."

"Oh. Right. How could I forget something so clear and well explained?"

"As for what I was planning," Rush said, ignoring his sarcastic comment, "I had no idea as to whether I would succeed or not."

Whatever happened to 'I'll try to let you _know_?' I thought you were _dead_."

"I ran into some trouble," Rush whispered, looking away. "On several levels."

Young rolled his eyes and edged slightly closer to the scientist so that they were sitting shoulder to shoulder. "What kind of trouble?" he said finally.

"There are certain hierarchies in place," Rush murmured, still not looking at Young, "Into which I do not easily fit. Very stringent requirements were imposed upon me for a time regarding interaction with this plane."

"So they wouldn't let you come back?" Young said.

"No," Rush replied.

"And you just _went_ _along_ with that?" Young asked, incredulous.

"I did," Rush said, "But—"

"Well thanks a lot," Young snapped. "You fucking _knew_ this would happen and you sent me through that gate _anyway_ because you could not _handle_—"

"Shut up, will you?" Rush murmured, leaning into his shoulder.

After a few seconds, Young wrapped an arm around him.

They were quiet for a moment.

"Nice fucking _haircut_, by the way," Rush said, his voice raw.

"I kept forgetting to cut it," Young murmured.

"I know how that goes."

"I'm sure you do," Young replied.

Again they were quiet, and Young shut his eyes. The wind whistled softly over the graves. In the back of his mind, he listened to the bright, incomprehensible, tonal swirl of Rush's thoughts.

"You haven't asked me," Rush whispered finally.

Young opened his eyes, looking up and out at the darkening sky. He took a long, deep breath, fighting the way his throat threatened to close. He thought of Gloria.

"That's because I don't need to, kiddo. I already know."

"Do you?" Rush asked.

"Yeah," Young said, his throat tight. "I don't blame you."

"This was the only way," Rush whispered. "The only way I could ascend. The only way I could come back."

"I know."

"He hated himself. But the AI—it—mitigated that to some degree." he whispered.

"I know," Young said.

"Together, they made something that could continue. That could fix everything that could be fixed." Rush glanced at him obliquely.

"Yeah," Young whispered.

"I don't know if this makes any difference to you," Rush whispered, "But the AI—I compressed it as much as I could, before the end."

"An iterative bit-rate reduction," Young said. "I know."

Rush nodded, watching the sun begin to dip below the horizon. "I'm mostly him," Rush whispered. "But not quite. Not exactly."

"Better?" Young asked faintly.

"Oh," Rush said looking away. "I don't think so. It turns out there's not really a metric for this sort of thing."

"I guess not," Young murmured, one hand running up and down Rush's arm. "So," he continued after a moment. "What's the plan?"

"Well," Rush whispered as if the words were being dredged out of him. "You have a choice."

Young watched the wind ruffle the pages of the notebook that lay on the edge of the flagstones.

"You going to tell me what this choice is?" Young asked.

"Either," Rush said, with a half-smile, "You tell me to fuck off, and you go back to your life with your newly repaired neural architecture, or you and I—" he broke off, looking away, "You and I get the fuck out of here." He did not look at Young.

"And by 'out of here,' you mean?"

"Off this plane," Rush murmured, his eyes fixed on the flagstones.

Young nodded, not trusting himself to speak, watching the red highlights in Rush's hair fade as the sun slipped below the horizon.

"It's alright," Rush whispered finally. "I understand. I thought you might feel that way."

"What?" Young asked, perplexed.

Rush shook his head. "I understand," he said simply.

"You're such an idiot," Young whispered. "Of course I'm coming with you. Do you have _any_ idea—" he broke off briefly and then recovered. "How difficult it has been to—" He shook his head.

"Yes," Rush breathed. "Yes, I know. But there are people here who care about you. Your family. The crew. And I am not what you—" he toyed with the cuff of his white-collared shirt. "Not precisely what you wanted."

Young pulled him in, pressing their foreheads together. "You're it, genius," Young said. "In whatever form you take."

Rush said nothing, just fisted his hands in the material of Young's jacket. Relief echoed through their link, clear and harmonic and profound, nearly overwhelming his consciousness before Rush managed to pull it back and tamp it down.

"That's new," Young said, tangling a hand in Rush's hair and gently rubbing the other over his back.

"Sorry," Rush murmured.

After a few minutes, Young pulled back. "Why didn't you descend," he asked. "Like Ginn?"

"I couldn't," Rush whispered. "I can't. I can't ever go back."

"Why not?"

"Even with the AI compressed," Rush said, "The information and experiences that make up my consciousness require more space than a human mind can provide." He smiled ruefully. "As you are well aware."

Young nodded.

"I considered descending, but I doubted that I would be at all functional," Rush said. "And I was convinced that such an outcome would be less acceptable to you than this one."

"You can't—break away from the AI, now that you've ascended?"

"No," Rush whispered. "And even if I could—I wouldn't."

"I guess not," Young said.

They were quiet for a moment.

"A _year_?" Young said finally. "Seriously?"

"I'm sorry," Rush said, "That it took me so long to convince them. They don't particularly like me."

"Nice to know that some things never change," Young said dryly. "What did you do to piss them off?"

Rush smiled. "Several things."

"Oh I don't doubt it. Are you going to make me drag it out of you or are you just going to tell me?"

"They're not particularly fond of the fact that I am unclassifiable—neither Ancient, nor human, nor machine. They don't like the fact that I was able to facilitate the ascension of three humans before I myself ascended. They have rules about that sort of thing, which I was able to circumvent by doing it when I was still corporeal."

"Is that all?" Young asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I'm also a _bit_," Rush said, sounding pleased with himself, "Untethered from this D-brane."

"What does that mean?" Young asked, raising his eyebrows. "I thought you couldn't tear through."

"I didn't tear through," Rush murmured. "I didn't make any changes, but I did," he broke off, tilting his head in a conspiratorial manner, "Tear this brane a bit."

Young raised his eyebrows.

"Just a _bit_. It was an unintended consequence of the manner in which I ascended," Rush said, unable to completely hide his smile as he looked out over the darkening cemetery.

"Unintended."

"Always so suspicious," Rush murmured, shaking his head with a sort of aggrieved amusement.

Around them, the small electric lights that illuminated the flagstone path flared to life simultaneously.

"Did you do that?" Young asked.

"Hardly," Rush replied, rolling his eyes. "The lights are likely on a timer. Do me a favor and at least make an effort toward the application of valid inference and correct reasoning. I know you're capable of it."

"God, you're a lot of work," Young said, fighting the almost forgotten twist of a real smile.

"I believe we can take that as a given," Rush said airily, his half-smile evening out into something that Young had only ever seen a few times. "There's no need to continuously state it."

"So how did you finally convince them to let you come back for me?" Young asked.

Rush's expression lost its amused cast and he looked away, back out into the fading purple light.

"Assistance of a human by an Ancient in the process of ascension is forbidden. There are certain parties who have managed to evade the established rules, but that was not possible for me, for a variety of reasons. So I consistently, persistently argued the same point for a fucking _year_, and ultimately I was successful in convincing the council that decides these things."

"And what point were you arguing?" Young asked.

"That you and I," Rush whispered, his gaze so intent that it was nearly unbearable. "Are not truly separate things."

"No," Young said, unable to look away. "I suppose we're not."

They were quiet for a moment, then Young spoke again. "So. Let's do this."

"It doesn't have to be now," Rush murmured. "You can—"

Young shook his head.

"Once you ascend," Rush said. "You won't be able to interact with this plane."

Young reached out, his fingers closing on the small notebook that he had been carrying with him.

"Is that my—" Rush trailed off.

"Yeah. It's one of the ones from 1998. You know you nearly had the Hodge conjecture entirely worked out?"

"Algebraic topology was a hobby of mine in the late nineties."

Young snorted. "I _know_."

"I suppose you would."

Young flipped to the front cover and wrote a brief message.

"_Dear Eli, _

_It turns out you were right. Let everyone know, would you?"_

He signed his name.

Rush raised his eyebrows.

"What?" Young asked. "It's succinct."

"True," Rush said.

Young stood and then reached down to pull Rush to his feet.

"Aren't you supposed to be glowing or something?" Young murmured.

"Not really my style," Rush said, smiling in the half-light.

"How are you even corporeal?" Young asked, stepping past the small lights to climb over the metal rail that he had been sitting on earlier.

"Partial intraconversion of mass and energy," Rush said, following Young over the metal rail, "Obviously."

"Oh yes. _Obviously_," Young echoed. Beneath his feet the grass was springy and slightly damp. He walked down the hill, between the straight rows of stones.

"Arlington," Rush said. "Seems a bit ostentatious, does it not?"

"David has a lot of pull," Young said. "Technically, civilians aren't even supposed to be buried here."

"Well, strictly speaking, I'm _not_ buried here."

"You're always causing trouble," Young murmured.

"I'm aware," Rush said dryly.

Young turned, making his way unerringly toward what he was looking for. When he found the stone in question, he set the notebook down gently on top of the smooth marble.

"How do you know he'll find it?" Rush murmured.

"I'm supposed to be meeting up with the senior staff from Destiny later tonight," Young murmured with a faint twinge of regret. "When I don't show—this is where he'll come."

He looked down at the stone for a long moment.

When he raised his eyes, Rush was again giving him the intent look that he remembered so well. That he'd never been able to look away from.

"Are you done here?" Rush asked. "I find this somewhat—" he trailed off.

"Weird. Yeah. I get that," Young said with a faint smile.

They looked at each other.

"I thought you didn't make it," Young whispered finally.

"I thought you _wouldn't_ make it," Rush replied, "Until I could come back for you."

Young nodded. "Come on genius, let's do this."

"What about your family? Tamara?" Rush paused. "Emily?"

"There are letters on file at the SGC," Young said.

"You're sure about this?" Rush whispered.

"Yeah," Young said, looking up at the few stars that were bright enough to outshine the ambient light of the nearby city. "I'm sure."

Rush said nothing, just extended his hand in the darkness.

Young took it.

Like a slow wave, Rush flooded into his mind, into every aspect of him, throwing all that he was into stark relief. The dig of blades into the ice, the rush forward and the pull back, the feel of his fingers against the cool, familiar planes of an assault rifle, Emily, his brothers, TJ, his daughter, the memory of math, of a mercy killing, of leaving a man to die, of a girl kissing his cheek in a cold hallway without light even as she turned into something she wasn't—

"Let it go," Rush whispered. His hair, his shirt, his skin, began to light up with a subtle glow. "Everything that's happened, everything you've done, is only a permutation of who you truly are."

Young looked at him.

"Circumstantially defined," Rush continued, "Depending sensitively on initial conditions, your path deterministic but unpredictable within the confines of a system containing more variables than could ever be formally described." His voice was quiet and low.

Young let the images come faster. They passed before him without restraint, without remorse. TJ. Scott. Daniel, curled into himself in the darkness of his quarters on Destiny. Rush, smoking a cigarette on a hill overlooking the sea.

"That's it exactly," Rush said.

He looked down at their hands, his own already taking on a vaguely luminous cast. A strange sensation crept along his arm in a painless, slow searing. The feel of the ground under his feet, of the night air over his skin began to fade.

"Let go," Rush whispered, their thoughts interweaving at every level.

Their outlines began to blur and fade, lighting up the darkness, reflecting off the ordered stones.

He let go.


End file.
